


Stalker

by Aussi18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-03 21:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 170,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussi18/pseuds/Aussi18
Summary: After Robin and Roland leave for New York, Regina's life begins to unravel. Relationships she had built begin to crumble, and the progress she has made toward her heroic redemption is suddenly called into question. As the evidence against her mounts, it becomes clear that the only way to save her loved ones from falling victim to her villainous ways is to leave Storybrooke, never to return.But at what cost?*This fic has some very dark themes. Please be sure to review the story trigger warning in the notes of Chapter 1 before reading this fic.*





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and all chapters will be posted as quickly as possible.
> 
> It's canon for about a second, then it goes wildly off-canon lol.
> 
> Story trigger warnings - graphic violence, unhealthy obsessive behaviors, suicidal thoughts, graphic self-harm, intense self-loathing, attempted sexual assault, references to past sexual assault, panic attacks, domestic violence, degradation, humiliation, probably other dark themes. Please remember that you have been warned, and it is definitely NOT my intention to upset or trigger anyone with the content. 
> 
> And while this fic has some dark parts in it, it is not ALL dark. It DOES indeed have a happy ending. And some fluff. And some smut. So yeah. 
> 
> Speaking of smut... Robin has a filthy mouth and he’s going to do sexy, dirty things to Regina (all of which she will like) so if that's not your thing, turn back now. 
> 
> A few lines of dialogue may be familiar (e.g. similar to the script). I do not pretend to own those or take any credit for them, I just liked the way they fit. I make no money on this, it's all purely for fun. Please don't sue me, I don’t have any money anyway.
> 
> Beta work was done by a trio of amazing humans: bolt41319, lanaiskhaleesi, babylawyer - You guys are amazing - I cannot express how grateful I am for all of your help. 
> 
> Dedicated to my friends in the Society. I'd be nothing without you.

_ _

_ New York - Prologue - May 8th, 2016 _

It’s pouring rain. It soaks right through her hooded cowl and black wool overcoat, the frigid water dripping down her forehead and cheeks, and if she was wearing mascara, she’s certain it would make the cosmetic run into her eyes and sting. The rain obscures her line of sight, makes it more difficult to watch them from her usual location, tucked deep into the shadowy alley that is cluttered with boxes, garbage cans, and other debris that no one ever bothers to pick up. But she’ll not abandon her post. It’s where she spends her nights, it’s where she spends _every _night - craning her neck up to stare at the second-floor apartment - unmoving, barely blinking, waiting for hours upon end to catch a single glimpse of them. She must make sure that they are safe and well-cared for, because they are all that is left of a beautiful fairy tale that she was almost a part of, they are all of the best parts of the happy ending she might have been granted, had she deserved it.

But she didn't deserve it, she didn't earn it; she gave it her all and she wasn't enough.

So she watches them go about their lives with absolutely no memory of her, while _her _memories are clear and as sharp as the blade of the Dark One's dagger.

Watching them is beyond painful for her. It is agony. It is her punishment.

And it is _exactly_ what she deserves.


	2. Chapter One

** _ New York - July 21st, 2016 _ **

Robin tries to tell himself that he’s just being paranoid.

He tells himself that even though it’s been eight months, he’s still adjusting to big city life after their move from upstate, that the only reason he feels like he’s being watched, or sometimes followed, is because he’s used to the quiet of the forest, not the hustle and bustle of constantly being surrounded by people. He tells himself this over and over, and he even has himself convinced of it enough to sleep soundly most nights. That is, up until one lazy Saturday morning when his newly turned five-year-old son Roland comes trudging out of his bedroom with a stuffed monkey tucked securely under his arm.

The second Robin sees it he knows something is not right with it. He _knows _it. Because he has never in his life seen that stuffed animal before, and he knows every single toy his son owns. It’s just him and Roland these days - Robin and Roland’s mother, Marian, have been divorced for over two months, but he hasn’t seen or heard from her for the past seven, so the fact that his son could appear in the morning with a toy he most definitely did _not_ go to sleep with is alarming to say the least.

“Morning, Papa,” Roland greets him groggily, pulling himself up onto the sofa beside him, monkey in tow.

“Good morning, my boy,” Robin returns, running his fingers through his son’s dark curls, trying to act naturally. “Who's this, then?” he asks, motioning to the monkey and keeping his voice light and even.

“Ozzy,” Roland says without hesitation, as if Robin should’ve already known that.

“I see. And uh, just where does Ozzy hail from? Did a friend at school lend him to you?”

“No,” Roland shrugs, his eyes glued to the bright colors of the cartoon now flashing on the telly as he haphazardly swings the monkey by its long arms. “My genie gave him to me.”

Exasperation and despair clutch at Robin’s heart. Not this again. _Christ_, he thought they were finally making some progress, thought the therapy sessions were working. He’s going to have to call the school on Monday and see if any of the other children are missing their stuffed animal. Perhaps he can get another therapy session on Thursday for Roland, double up this week since they seem to have had a relapse. Yesterday was Roland's birthday, his first one since Marian left them, and Robin would bet that that has something to do with the sudden reappearance of Roland's genie.

“Your genie visited you again, did she?” Robin asks, and Roland nods, still watching the cartoon. “Do you uh, do you want to talk about it?” he tries. He never had an imaginary friend as a child, but Roland’s psychiatrist, Dr. Li, has been helping Robin understand how to deal with this.

Dr. Li says that Marian’s sudden abandonment of Roland has really done a number on him - so much so that almost as soon as Marian moved out, his son had started acting up, the situation slowly escalating until he started stealing from his mates in an act of retaliation. Robin had been more than equipped to handle that - he was no stranger to thievery himself - but that had stopped almost as fast as it started and had been substituted by Roland making up an imaginary friend - a genie, much like the one from one of his favorite storybooks, _Aladdin._ Dr. Li says it’s Roland’s attempt to fill the void his son is feeling in the wake of his mother’s absence, and _Christ_, Robin doesn’t have a clue what to do about that. So he’s put his boy in therapy, because he wants to nip it in the bud before it gets any worse. Roland won’t tell Robin much about his genie, but Dr. Li has encouraged Robin to engage with Roland about it, to make his son feel comfortable discussing it, to be accepting and open so Roland doesn’t feel like he needs to hide it from his father, so Robin is trying.

“Nah,” Roland says, hugging his monkey tighter to him and flopping over on his back on the couch.

Robin grits his teeth in frustration and looks out the window of their apartment. It’s early, the sun is just barely starting to come up so that the high-rise apartment buildings still crowd out the first rays of light. He stands and makes his way over to it, glancing around for the gray zip-up hoodie he swears he left draped over the arm of the couch last night, but is now nowhere to be seen, gives up on it with a shrug, then moves to stand in front of the smudged glass. He stares down at the street, trying to calm down, to convince himself that everything will be fine, that his son is okay. He can’t expect Roland to have been completely cured after just a few short weeks of therapy. He knows these things take time, knows that he needs to be patient, that they’ll get through this together, that his son’s mental health can be restored with time and proper care. They just have to keep working at it, and he has to be patient. His anger at Marian, at the world, at himself will do no good, and he needs to keep it together. Robin forces the hand not holding his coffee mug to unclench from the fist he didn’t mean to make.

The street and alleyway below are cast deep in shadow, and as Robin sips his coffee he lets his mind think of tall trees, fresh air, and sunrises over grassy hilltops. He misses the forest, can’t for the life of him remember why he thought a career in urban agriculture would be more fulfilling than his old job as a conservation officer. His eyes scan the mostly empty street below, then casually flick over to the alcove across the street as he raises his coffee to his lips for another slow sip, and he _freezes_.

Someone is staring at him.

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and Robin holds perfectly still, shocked into immobility because he’s been feeling watched for days, for weeks, for _months _even, if he’s being really honest. And it’s not an apparition, it’s no trick of the eyes - he can definitely see someone standing down there, tucked into the shadows dressed in all black and _looking right at him_, though he cannot really see their face, cannot tell any details about them at all. But he knows - _knows_ somehow - that they’re staring at him as hard as he is them.

The hot coffee scalds his upper lip and he pulls it away quickly, cursing and setting the mug on the windowsill, glancing away for barely a second before he looks back to the alley.

But there is no one there.

Robin shakes his head in disbelief, searches the entirety of the street, cranes his head to look down it both ways as far as he can, but he can see no one who fits the description of the alley lurker. He rubs his hands over his eyes and stares into the alley again, trying to discern if he’s somehow missed the person, perhaps they’re still standing there and he’s just glossed over their form. It’s early and dark, and he’s not fully awake yet - but he sees no one.

Roland calls to him and asks him about breakfast, and Robin hesitantly steps back from the window. He makes up some toast and jam for them, then works on convincing himself that even if there was someone down there - which he can’t prove there was - he doesn’t actually know that they were looking at him, specifically. They could have been looking at the floor above him, for all he knows. Or at the apartment next to him. They could have been looking anywhere, really, if there was even a person there to begin with, and not just some figment of his lonely, half-awake, stressed-out imagination.

He tells himself that any of those things are equally likely and there is nothing to fret over as he walks through the apartment after breakfast and checks all the locks on the windows. He repeats it to himself as he takes his morning shower and trims his beard, and by the time he and Roland start their morning walk to the park with ‘Ozzy the Stolen Monkey’ poking up out of Roland’s little backpack for company, Robin believes it.

But bugger if he doesn’t still feel like he’s being watched.

Later that evening, Robin drops Roland off for the night at the babysitter’s house. She’s a nice young lady in her mid-twenties named Sara, who had about a thousand references and credentials as a nanny, talks a million miles a minute but - thank the heavens - she never tries to flirt with Robin when he brings Roland to stay with her. He’d been hesitant to hire her after the slew of annoying twenty-somethings that kept trying to get in his pants the second they found out he was a single dad with a decent paycheck, but upon meeting Sara, Robin promptly decided that even though she’s chatty, expensive, and entirely too cheerful, she’s worth every penny since she keeps her hands and flirtations to herself.

It’s a bit of a walk to work from Sara’s, but he prefers to stretch his legs instead of taking the subway - it’s too closed off, makes him feel claustrophobic. He’s got to put a few solid hours in at the office tonight to shore up some last minute tweaks on the rooftop garden his team is constructing on top of the east-side children’s hospital. It’s the first project he’s worked on in New York that he’s actually enjoyed, but it’s taking up way more of his time than he ever thought it would. His boss wants him to finish it as soon as possible so they can get the gardeners in and actually plant some vegetables this summer - the publicity for the hospital would be invaluable. There’s a lot of politics behind the scenes pushing for it that Robin doesn’t care to know about, so in turn, he’s being pressured to finish it three weeks ahead of schedule, which means working a lot of nights and weekends lately. It’s hard enough being a single parent, but he bloody hates that his spare time with his son is being bled dry by a job he’s not in love with, in a city he doesn’t really want to live in, in the first place. So, in a show of stubborn resistance, he’s been trying to spend each full day of the weekend with Roland, and each night of it at work, so he doesn’t have to sacrifice any time with his boy.

It’s bloody exhausting, but without a doubt it is worth every second spent with Roland.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke - November 8th, 2015 _ **

“You had sex with Robin Hood?!” Henry yells, his face red, tears in his accusing eyes as he drops them from hers, backing away. “How could you, Mom?! You were supposed to be trying to be good. You were supposed to be helping!”

“Henry, wait, you don’t understand, _please,_” Regina begs, frantically tugging her housecoat on over her silk pajamas, cursing the fading line of hickeys Robin left along the tops of her breasts, the incriminating bruises that she’s unable to explain to her fifteen year old son in a way that he could possibly understand at his young age. _Why _hadn’t she healed the damn love bites? _Why _did she have to cling to them like a final parting gift from a man who had chosen another woman over her?

“You were supposed to _save Marian_,” Henry bellows, tears running down his cheeks, and his stubborn gaze jumps back to hers. “You were supposed to be helping them - you were supposed to be a hero, not a, a, a,” he waves his hands in the air in front of him, “A _slut_.”

All the blood drains from Regina’s face. She has never heard her son speak this way, doesn’t even know where he could have heard such an obscene word - no wait, yes she does - _Emma_. “Mind your language, young man,” she scolds, but her voice is weak, shaky, it doesn’t hold the authority she intends. The hurt from Henry’s crass words slithers from the base of her skull down her spine and makes her tremble with a fear of losing him she has never known. “I tried,” she attempts, her voice meek. She clears her throat, “There was nothing I could -”

“Yes there was! You could _not _have _sex _with Maid Marian’s husband!” Henry cuts her off, angry now, _furious_ with her. His hands are balled into fists, and as Regina’s fear ratchets up, she begins to shake.

“You’re so selfish!” His voice jumps an octave and Henry starts to cry in earnest. Regina steps forward, reaching out, wanting to comfort him, her maternal instincts yearning for her to wrap her son in her arms, to make his pain abate. But Henry backs away further and shakes his head _no_ at her, then starts ranting like she’s the devil herself. “You never think of anyone but yourself. You _promised _me you were trying, that you wanted to be good, that you were done being a villain. But you never meant any of it, did you? You probably never even looked for a cure for Marian, you were just going to let her die, so you could have Robin Hood all for yourself.” He sniffles loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “So what happened? He found out about your evil plan? Is that why he really left? _God,_ I can’t believe I fell for your twisted schemes again. I _knew _you would do this. I _knew_ you couldn’t be a hero - I _knew_ you wouldn’t keep your promise.”

“I did,” she argues, her voice sounding so small, not at all queenly as she pleads, “I want to be good, Henry, you have to believe me.” She breaks and starts to cry too, the tears trailing down her cheeks as she gets on her knees in front of her son. Regina feels like she’s dying, like an enormous force is pushing down on her shoulders and her spine is crumbling from the pressure, her bones splintering inch by inch under the weight of her actions as she sinks to the floor. Henry has never looked at her like this, not even when he first brought Emma to Storybrooke and was hell-bent on proving to everyone that she was indeed the Evil Queen. When he looked at her then he was suspicious, angry, and annoyed, but there was also hope and love in his eyes, though he didn’t want to admit it.

All she can see now is fury and disappointment.

“It was a mistake, sweetie, you’re right, I shouldn’t have slept with Robin, I made a mistake. But it doesn't mean I wasn’t trying,” her voice is scratchy and low with desperation as she speaks. “I did try - I don’t want to be a villain, I’ve been working so hard not to be. Please,_ you have to believe me_,” she begs, looking up at him, her hands clasped in front of her, the perfect picture of subservience. Henry is the only person in all the realms she would ever get on her knees and beg forgiveness from. “Henry you’re the _only _one who believes in me.”

Henry stares at her for a moment, and suddenly he calms, he stops crying and he stands up straight. He takes a deep, steadying breath and Regina can’t help but feel a swell of pride - that’s it, that’s her prince - he is so strong, so brave, even when she is not. He is such a good boy, is turning into a good man more and more each day. She has a little flutter of hope as he collects himself and a calm look comes over his face.

But then he says, “Not anymore,” turns on his heel, and leaves.

And Regina falls apart.

* * *

** _ New York - July 20th, 2016 _ **

She should not be here. Henry would be so disappointed in her if he knew she was here, if he knew what sins she’d committed to get in here.

Regina knows how wrong this is, what a violation of privacy, what a violation of _trust_ it is, but she can’t seem to stop herself from doing it anyway. She is always weak of will, but especially today, for today is Roland’s fifth birthday.

She stole Robin’s keys earlier today; took them right out of his knapsack in the hallway after he unlocked his apartment door, moved so fast she knows he never saw her - though he might have heard her - she’s not sure. She may not have her magic outside of Storybrooke, but her superhuman reflexes, speed, and strength are inherent in her, so she still has them, and they make it easy for her to remain undetected most of the time.

Today is Friday, and Regina knows that Robin has been working extra hours lately, but she also knows he won’t work tonight - not on Roland’s birthday - so she knows she can keep his keys without him noticing, knows that he won’t check his bag for them until the next day when he leaves the apartment for their morning walk to the park. And by then, she’ll have already put the keys back.

She watches from across the street until Robin shuts the television off in the living room around midnight, and sees the dark shadow of his form in front of the window that faces the street as he checks to make sure it’s locked. He’s so diligent in his bedtime security routine - always makes sure to check every window, every door - he has never failed to ensure every lock is secure, but Regina does her own checks after he’s gone to bed each night, just to be sure. She’d never forgive herself if something were to happen to them because of an inadequate lock.

She waits another two hours before she slips inside the apartment, wanting to be sure that Robin is truly asleep. Regina can risk no mistakes - if Robin catches her she doesn’t want to think about what she might have to do to get away from him, doesn’t know if he’s aware of his own impossibly fast reflexes and skilled aim, but things could go sideways very quickly if he tries to fight her, especially since he has no memory of her. To him, she’ll be nothing but a trespassing maniac in his home, and even if he did remember her, she is arguably little more than that anyway.

Regina is dressed in all black as usual, she never wears a mask but she does wear a hooded cowl pulled up over her head, and it does a sufficient job at hiding her face so that she doesn’t worry about being recognized in the dark. The soles of her tall boots are worn enough that they make no sound on the stone tile as she crosses the entryway, and it takes an enormous amount of effort to force herself to move straight toward Roland’s room - not to linger, not to get sidetracked with the rest of the apartment. The familiar scent of pine, coffee and leather hits her nose, her lungs fill with it, her eyes tear and her mind keeps trying to throw her into memories of when she was surrounded by this smell almost every day. Of when she could associate this scent with smiles and laughter and sweet embraces. Of when this was all an _almost_.

Roland’s room is the first door on the left down the hallway, and she is very familiar with the room, though admittedly not from this side of his window. His door is pulled halfway shut, but she slips through it silently and closes it the rest of the way, wanting - no - _needing_ just a moment alone with the little boy she was once so close to considering her own.

Sleeping soundly, breaths deep and even, tucked snugly under plaid flannel sheets and a forest green comforter, lies the tiny little boy that she _aches_ to curl up with. Regina’s heart clenches, it _stings_ from all the way across the room as she goes stock still and just stares at him, the walls she has erected around her heart dissolving like sugar in water over simply sharing the same space with him for the first time in seven, debilitating months.

She’s not sure what alerts him to her presence, she knows she hasn’t made a sound, she hasn’t moved, hasn’t even breathed - there is no reason for him to wake, but he does. Roland sits up in his little bed and looks right at her, shoving his adorable curls out of his eyes as he asks, “Genie?”

“Yes, baby,” she automatically responds, her voice a whisper as she pulls her hood down quickly. Regina doesn’t want to scare him, though she knows he recognizes her with it up - it’s the only reason why he’s not already screaming for Robin to come and save him.

“Why’re you _inside_?” he whispers, glancing to the window behind him where he is used to seeing her.

Regina blinks quickly, fighting tears, understanding his confusion. He has no memory of ever being in the same room with her.

Roland has no memories of falling asleep with his head on her chest while watching movies in her living room, snuggled up together under Chanel blankets.

No memories of her holding him on her hip, swaying to her favorite bel canto operas in the kitchen while she cooked pasta and let him taste-test the noodles after carefully blowing on them to make sure they were cool enough for him to eat.

No memories of her healing his skinned knees and palms with her magic when he fell off of Henry’s old bicycle while the boys were playing in her driveway. No memory of her tearing holes in her tights as she knelt on the rough brick pavers, kissing his tears away, until her own hands stopped shaking with the terror that he had really been hurt.

“I heard that it's your birthday,” she says quietly, “So instead of reading you a story, I wanted to bring you a present. Is that alright?” she asks.

Roland chews his lip and looks nervous, and Regina hates that she has made him feel this way. She’s such an imbecile. She is a stranger to him - of course he will be fearful of her, of course he won’t want to take a gift from her. Robin has taught him well, and he _should_ be suspicious of her, the woman who sits on his fire escape and reads to him through his bedroom window. God. She’s sick. Demented. She shouldn’t be here.

“Okay,” Roland surprises her as he nods, drawing her attention back to him. “I’m five years old now,” he brags, puffing up his chest a little and holding up his hand, his fingers spread wide to show her.

“Yes you are,” she smiles as best she can, then pulls the gift she brought for him out from inside of her jacket. She didn’t wrap it but she knows he won’t care - knows he will be too excited to be upset about the lack of wrapping paper.

“Wow!” he starts to exclaim and Regina carefully shushes him as he scampers toward the end of his bed toward her. He drops his voice back to a loud whisper and meets her eyes in the dim light of his nightlight. “He’s just like in the story, Genie,” he tells her, reaching out for the stuffed, winged monkey, his eyes as round as saucers.

“That he is,” Regina agrees, not realizing she’s crying until a tear drips from her cheek and hits her hand, which is shaking.

“What’s his name?” Roland asks, staring at his new stuffed animal in wonder, then back at her with a look of pure adoration.

Regina swallows thickly and tries to compose herself, glad for the darkness, hopeful that it’s hiding her emotional breakdown from Roland. “Well,” she rasps, “Since he’s from the land of Oz, why don’t we call him, Ozzy?”

“Yeah, Ozzy!” Roland agrees, hugging the monkey to his chest and grinning broadly at Regina, his sweet dimples on full display for her. “Thank you, Genie. I _love _him.”

Her heart had stopped when Roland said those words - she had automatically completed it as, “I love _you_,” had set herself up on purpose to be crushed when reality slammed back into her in the next half of a second.

It takes everything in her to not give away her selfish devastation, to smile and tell him, “I love him too,” before she bids Roland goodnight, and a happy birthday, then slips out of his room.

She only makes it to the living room before she breaks, the despair and complete hatred of herself bubbling up and causing her to pause so she can torture herself for another minute. Regina stands in Robin’s living room and imagines she is an invited guest, that he’s just gone into the other room for a moment but is coming right back; imagines what it would feel like to see him walking down the hall with fire and heat in his eyes, to have him take her hand and tug her into his bedroom and make her feel all those things she never knew were possible before him. Regina runs her fingertips over the backrest where he typically sits on the couch, and when her hand brushes over the fabric of his gray zip-up hoodie, she just… takes it.

She slips Robin’s keys back into his knapsack before she leaves, then silently creeps out the front door, using the copy of his key she had made to re-lock it from the outside. There is no way for Robin to know she was there tonight, but she knows he won’t recognize the monkey, that he’ll be suspicious. But she also knows that he doesn’t believe in Roland’s ‘genie’, and while she loathes herself for taking advantage of that, she couldn’t let his birthday pass without giving her favorite knight the gift he’d been asking her for since he lost his previous monkey in the Enchanted Forest.

Still, she shouldn’t have done any of it. Shouldn’t have stolen Robin’s keys, or gone into his home; should not have spoken with Roland or given him a gift; certainly should not have stolen Robin’s clothing and made a copy of his key, so that she might enter whenever she pleases.

Henry would be so disappointed.

She must be punished for her actions tonight. _Watching _is not enough suffering for her transgressions this time. She broke too many rules, broke nearly _all_ the rules, and Henry, _god, _if Henry knew he would be so ashamed, would be even more ashamed of her than he was on the day he gave up on her. Today, she was a villain. And villains must pay for their crimes.

Her apartment is small, bare, and mostly unfurnished. She has a twin bed, a dresser, a small table and one chair. Aside from that, there is nothing. She deserves nothing. She once had everything - mansions and castles, wardrobes and crowns, items and artifacts of immeasurable wealth - but she was a fraud, a fake, she was never worthy of any of it. This - this hovel - even this is more than she deserves.

She ignites the gas burner on the stove and turns it on as high as it will go, watching the orange flame for a moment as it flickers in the otherwise dark room, then searches in a nearby cabinet drawer for the little metal numbers she needs - 7/20/2016. The tongs are still laying on the laminate countertop from the last time she used them, and once she arranges the numbers on the bracket that holds them together in the order she needs, she attaches it to the tongs, then sets the numbers in the flames to warm.

It takes what feels like forever for the numbers to heat up. Her fireball was much more intense - she could incinerate iron in seconds, could turn bones to ash when her temper was up. It is frustrating to have to resort to such rudimentary tools, but it is all that is available, and she figures it is as much a part of the punishment as anything. Regina makes use of the time by pulling off her cowl and unbuttoning her jacket, draping it over the back of the kitchen chair, then continues to strip down until she’s standing in her kitchen in her underwear. She never wears anything sexy - not anymore - just plain black cotton that she doesn’t give a second thought to. Usually she sleeps just like this, but tonight is different.

Regina walks back to the stove and checks on the metal numbers. They are ready now - glowing red around the edges and angry looking. She takes a moment to shrug into the gray hoodie, _Robin’s _hoodie, because she is weak, and a thief, what’s done is done, and she’s about to punish herself anyway. His scent surrounds her and she sobs loudly in reaction, unable to tamp it down, curling in on herself as her knees buckle so fast that she has to grab the kitchen counter to stay on her feet. It’s been too long since she has been near him, since he has held her, touched her, _looked _at her, but she is _evil _and _wrong_ and does not deserve for him to ever set eyes on her again.

With a shaking hand Regina bunches up the left sleeve of the hoodie all the way to her elbow, completely exposing her forearm. Then she flips the burner off, grits her teeth, and reaches for the tongs.


	3. Chapter Two

**_New York - July 22nd, 2016 _**

Robin rubs his hands over his eyes and checks his watch. Four o’clock in the bloody morning. _Fuck_.

He packs up his things quickly and exits his office building, slings his knapsack across his body and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He takes off at a brisk walk toward home - he hadn’t meant to stay so late - but he’s finally gotten his plans straightened out, enough so that he doesn’t have to come in tomorrow night. He thanks all the gods for that, because he’s nearly legless with exhaustion and he’s only going to get about four hours of sleep before he’s got to pick up Roland.

It’s only a twenty minute walk between his office and home, and the streets are mostly deserted this time of night, so he can walk fast without having to worry about dodging in and out of the usual stream of people. He should be glad for it, it should relax him, but instead it makes him feel more on edge, because in spite of the lack of people around him he’s got that odd sensation of being watched again.

Exhaustion, he tells himself. It’s fatigue. It’s just because he’s tired, he’s stressed out and needs to sleep. He’s got to stop this, got to get some rest and kick this paranoia or he’s going to have to start making his own appointments with Dr. Li.

Robin is a block from home when he hears the noise.

It’s a shuffling sound, a scraping. It stands out in the quiet of the early morning, unnatural against the tap-tap-tap-tap of footsteps on pavement and it draws his gaze, pulls his head from where he’s staring straight ahead to look down the alley he’s just crossing in front of.

What he sees stops him dead in his tracks.

There are two men in the alley, and they’re dragging a woman further into the shadows - a woman who isn’t screaming, who isn’t fighting at all. She’s just hanging rather limp between the two of them as the darkness swallows them up, and, well, Robin might be just one man, he might be just one exhausted, paranoid, unarmed man who is one block from home, but there is no way in _hell_ that he’s going to stand by and let this happen.

_Absolutely fucking not._

He’s running then, sprinting as hard and as fast as he can, his feet slamming into the asphalt, his knapsack clattering to the ground as he shucks it, then launches himself at the three strangers. He aims for the woman - hoping to knock them all down with the force of his bodyweight and perhaps get a hand on the back of her head, protect her from the fall as much as possible.

His plan - though rudimentary - actually works quite well. He knocks everyone down, yelps of surprise from the two men echoing off the walls of the alleyway as Robin lands on top of the woman, hugging her into his chest as tightly as possible. Then he’s up and ready for a brawl, scrambling over the top of the woman to drive his fist into the first guy - an ugly, gangly fellow with a hooked nose that Robin is certain he’s just broken. The guy drops down onto his belly with the force of Robin’s punch and starts army crawling away, pleading his case, “We weren’t going to do anything, we were just playin’ around, man!” apparently not up for fighting, so Robin turns and directs his attention to the other bloke.

This one’s a bit bigger, almost good looking with light hair and eyes, and when he makes a charge at Robin, Robin uses the man’s momentum to throw him to the ground, then climbs on top of him and starts pounding him into the pavement.

He hits him three, four times before he pulls up, noticing the man’s not fighting back anymore. Instead, this tosser is whining now too, saying, “We didn’t do anything - she’s fine - I swear we only roughed her up a little - we barely touched her!”

Robin looks over to where he last saw the woman and notices that she is standing up now. “Is everything alright, miss?” he asks, not believing these men at all.

The woman shakes her head yes, though she has her hood drawn over her head, her dark hair framing the sides of her face so he can’t fully see her, and when he asks if she would like him to call the police she vehemently shakes her head no.

Robin figures it’s her decision - he doesn’t actually know what was going on when he threw himself into the situation, so he grabs the man below him by the throat and asks him, “Right then. Have you learned your lesson about dragging women off into dark alleys, or shall I continue the lecture?”

The man nods frantically, hands raised in surrender, his upper and lower lips split, cheek heavily bruised, eye almost swollen shut from Robin’s assault.

“If I ever see your face, or your little buddy’s face in this neighborhood again, they’re going to find both your bodies in the river, understand?” he threatens. He doesn’t mean it, he’s not a murderer, for christ’s sake, but he _will _call the cops, he _will _make sure they see true justice done. The guy nods, but Robin doesn’t let him up; instead, he reaches in the man’s back pocket and pulls his wallet out, takes his driver’s license from inside and tells him, “I’ll hold on to this as a bit of insurance that you won’t come back, yeah?”

The guy’s good eye widens and he nods again, then Robin gets off of him. The two men are up and running out of the alley before Robin has a chance to bid good riddance to them, and then he’s left standing there with a woman he’s not really sure if he saved or not.

He takes a moment to look her over - it’s hard to see much of her in the dark alley though - she’s dressed in black from head to toe, with her hood still up, and she’s quite small, too, shorter than him and fine framed. He knows he should probably just take his leave, she certainly seems steady enough now, and he’s quite sure those two berks aren’t coming back, but he’s always had a chivalrous streak in him and he just can’t quite stop himself from saying, “Would it be alright if I accompanied you back to the street? I could call you a taxi, or escort you to wherever it was you were headed, make sure you arrive safely and all that.”

The woman is barely looking up now, glancing back and forth between him and the street, but she says nothing, and he can’t really see her face under her hood. It occurs to him belatedly that perhaps she’s frightened of him too - he did just come flying out of nowhere and beat the daylights out of two fully grown men.

“I can assure you I mean you no harm,” he tries, stepping back from her and holding his hands up in front of him. “My name is Robin Locksley, and I live just a block from here, in the Maple Ridge Apartments. Is there someone I could call, perhaps, someone who could pick you up?”

“No,” she says quietly, her tone low and raspy. “There is no one.”

Something in the way she says it makes his heart clench, makes him positively ache for her. Everyone should have _someone_. He wants to help her even more now, his mind spins with a solution for how to win her trust.

“I don’t mean to be pushy, but I hope you’ll at least allow me to accompany you back to the main street,” he tries, “I could never forgive myself if I left you to an unknown fate in this alley, considering what almost just happened.”

The woman cocks her head to the side, finally settling her gaze, studying him in the darkness, but after a few seconds of silence pass she nods her acquiescence, and Robin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He leads the way slowly, half turned toward her, half toward the street - he’s not quite sure how steady she is on her feet and if she starts to tip over he wants to be able to catch her.

They round the corner out of the alley and Robin turns to her, finally able to see a bit more of her under the streetlights.

“So…” he says, “Can I hail you a cab? Or perhaps an Uber is better?”

“No, I - it’s fine,” she stutters a bit, then sways enough that she takes a step sideways to catch herself, and Robin’s hand automatically reaches for her shoulder to steady her as he ducks his head to see her face better under her hood.

“_Bloody hell!_” he curses. The left side of her face is purple with bruising, her cheekbone is split open, blood still dripping down her and onto her neck from it.

“It’s fine,” she says again, but she doesn’t pull away, and he suspects it’s because she’ll lose her balance if she does.

“That shiner’s so bad it’s split your skin - you need medical attention,” he tells her, trying to call up his conservation officer field training. “You may have a concussion - do you know how many times you were struck?”

She says nothing, just stares up at him, and now is not the time for him to notice such things, but her eyes are the most beautiful golden brown he has ever seen in his life.

“What’s your name?” he asks. If she passes out on him he should at least know that.

The woman opens her mouth then closes it, breaks eye contact and steps back from him, out of reach. “It’s fine,” she repeats. “I don’t want medical attention.”

Robin shakes his head, bewildered.

“I don’t want medical attention,” she repeats, her voice more forceful. “I don’t want it. I don’t.”

She catches his eyes again and she looks a bit wild now, panicked even, so Robin holds up his hands in front of him and says, “Alright, okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She nods, her head moving up and down quickly, arms tucking in around her body defensively as she backs up against the wall of the building next to them. Robin’s heart breaks for her, she is obviously still afraid, still shaken from her experience in the alley and not thinking clearly.

“Would you be willing to grace me with your name though?” he asks softly, “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, but if you do, perchance, happen to have a concussion, and you start to slide down that wall, there, I would at least like to be able to call your name when I try to rouse you.” He tries teasing her a bit, because he doesn’t have much experience with saving damsels in dark alleys, and he has no idea how to show her that he’s not a serial murderer who’s trying to lure her up to his apartment so he too can take advantage of her.

She brings her head up slowly, her face - wow, she’s _beautiful - _framed in the black circle of her hood, her cheek brutally swollen from the beating those two men gave her. Tears well, then fall from her almond shaped eyes as she meets his, and she tells him in a voice that is more broken, more pained than any sound he has ever heard, “My name is Regina Mills.”

And then she passes out right in front of him.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke - June 10, 2015 _ **

It’s been one month to the day since she kissed Robin Hood. Since she took Snow’s stupid advice and marched out into the middle of the woods, grabbed him by the lapels, and pressed her lips to his in the cold spring air like she couldn’t take another breath if she didn’t do it right that second.

In response to her forwardness, the most unexpected thing had happened. It was something she had never dared to hope for, because hope was for heroes, and even though she was desperately trying not to be a villain anymore, her morality could, in all fairness, be described as chaotic neutral at best.

Robin had kissed her back.

And then he had surprised her further, had tugged her back to him and kissed her like he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He threaded his fingers in her hair, wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulled her in close to his big, warm body, and kissed her like she was the most important, the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

He even kissed her like he wasn’t _afraid_ of her, and that perhaps, was the most surprising thing of all.

Now it’s been an entire month filled with absurd flirtations - of heated glances, stolen moments, and excuses to touch. A month of late night walks in the moonlight with their fingers laced tightly together, of long talks in front of her fireplace as he coaxes her into his arms with reassurances that the boys are sleeping soundly and they won’t be discovered (even though Robin’s arm wrapped around her shoulders is hardly anything to be embarrassed about). A month of sweet, chaste kisses that never fall below her collarbone, regardless of how low the neckline of her blouse is.

It’s been an entire month of Robin courting her like she’s a proper, honorable _lady_, and Regina is at a complete loss for why he thinks he needs to do that, because it’s led to this little issue with sex, or rather, a _lack_ of sex. A lack of _anything sexual_ other than a few soft kisses that he refuses to allow to heat up, which has her on edge constantly, has her squirming and almost whining, biting her tongue to keep from asking him, _Why doesn’t he want to bed her???_

_Everyone _wants to bed her. This is not a problem she usually has. So the fact that Robin is constantly putting on the brakes is driving her insane with confusion, especially when she keeps giving him her A-game, keeps wearing her sexiest dresses, blouses, and skirts with alluring, expensive push up bras and bustiers underneath; her highest heels with sheer, laced trimmed thigh-highs and garters that she makes certain he catches a glimpse of at least once when they’re together; perfects her hair and makeup and always is sure to accessorize exactly right, so even if he takes her clothes off, her jewelry will match whatever she’s wearing underneath.

But he never once tries to undress her.

When the dam finally breaks, they’re in her kitchen. They’ve just finished the meal she’s made and it’s one of those accidental awkward moments where they’re both carrying dishes to the sink and get in one another’s way, so they wind up bumping around into each other. They eventually end up setting the dishes down but then they’re close, too close, nearly chest to chest, and she can’t hold back anymore. Her heart is racing and she wants him so badly that she just moves without thinking, wraps her hands around his neck and tugs his head down to kiss him.

Regina feels desperate for him, feels needy and so aroused after wanting him and being teased by these innocent touches for what feels like forever. His hands land on her hips as he returns her kisses, and she takes the lead, slips her tongue into his mouth, and runs her hands over his chest. When he pulls back to take a breath she bumps her hips against his and rubs her chest against him as she arches.

His fingers tighten on her waist but he doesn’t push her away, so she keeps escalating, sucking hotly at his lips, scraping her teeth along his thicker lower lip then moaning, the soft vibration moving from her mouth into his, feeling the breath in his lungs catch under her hands as she strokes them down his chest. She fists her hands in the fabric of his vest and walks herself back to the kitchen island, hoists herself up on it without breaking their kiss and parts her thighs, her hands at his waist, pulling him in closer when she hikes up her skirt.

Robin’s hands are still on her waist, his grip tight but not resistant, his lips and tongue enthusiastic against her own as their mouths tease against each other. She’s burning up for him, can feel herself getting more and more aroused, wanting to strip down right here and let him do whatever he wants with her body. She’ll let him, too. Right now, in this moment, she will let him do _anything_ he wants with her.

Regina runs her hands down his thick biceps, over his forearms to his hands and tugs them from her waist, then relocates his hands on her thighs, right on top of the straps of her garters. He breaks their kiss and looks down at his hands, and she takes the opportunity to suck hotly along his jawline, all the way to his pulse point, then tips her chin up to whisper in his ear, “Touch me, Robin.”

He groans quietly and flexes his fingers on her thighs, but otherwise doesn’t move. Regina rocks her hips wantonly, parts her legs further, takes his earlobe lightly between her teeth and tells him, “I’m so wet for you, touch me and see.”

Robin’s breath rushes fast from his lungs and he slides his hands up an inch, but then frustratingly, yet again, his hands stop.

She loses her patience, puts her hands over his, and pulls both his hands up under her skirt.

“_Christ!”_ Robin curses, squeezing her upper thighs hard.

“That’s right,” she encourages, pressing kisses to the column of his throat, breathing in his masculine scent and stroking her hands over his. She wiggles their fingers under the lace fabric of her thong and presses his thick digits against her hot, slick core. “See? Right there,” she sighs, moving her hips against his fingers, effectively stroking him through her folds. “Feels so good.”

But then Robin wrenches his hands away from her and says, “Sorry, uh, uh,” without elaborating further, so Regina switches tactics. She can easily see that he’s hard for her, so she reasons that perhaps he just wants her to touch him instead, that maybe he thinks that she should have put _his_ needs first - he wouldn’t be the first man she’s slept with who thought that way. She hops off the counter and goes for his belt then, and when he doesn’t move, doesn’t stop her, she assumes that’s exactly what the problem was.

She quickly unbuckles his belt, opens the fly of his jeans, and slips her hand down under his boxer briefs to wrap around his impressively thick length, and her confidence builds. The second she touches him he goes completely still before her, his head bowed and staring where her hand disappears beneath his clothing, one of his hands gripping the kitchen island and the other on his forehead. She has him panting within seconds, he’s so thick, and _god_, he’s long too, her excitement only increases the more she strokes him, and she’s mildly surprised he’s not demanding she take him in her mouth yet. Most men do - in fact that’s the most popular request she’s gotten - even more so than the other obvious places of where a man might want to fuck her.

She thinks to reward him for _not_ asking her to do it, by _doing it_, so she tugs at his jeans and starts to lower herself to her knees, content to suck him off in her kitchen. She can use this later, can touch herself and think of his taste, his smell, the way he looks at her as she does it. Maybe he’ll touch her hair, or stroke her cheek in that soft way he does when they kiss sometimes, and she thinks that _yes_, this will certainly be enough to satisfy her tonight, to satisfy her for a long time, probably.

But then suddenly Robin is pulling away from her so fast that she almost falls on her face, her hand caught in his pants for a moment until he frees himself of her, then backs up against the far wall of the kitchen as he does up his pants and whispers, “This, this isn’t right. Christ, I’m so sorry, Regina.”

She stands there like a complete fool for a second, totally confused by his actions. This is what he should have wanted, this is what men _always _want, why is he acting this way? Then it hits her, tears spring to her eyes and she fights embarrassment like she has never felt before. Oh god, was she too caught up in herself to recognize that he didn’t actually like what she was doing?

She tries to keep her voice low and steady as she pleads her case. “I, I can do better than that,” she fixes her skirt and licks her lips. “I was just getting started, that’s not, that’s just the beginning of what I can do. If you’ll let me try again, I’ll do whatever, however you want me to do it.” She just wants him to want her, _god_, she’ll do anything if he’ll just want her. She likes him so, _so much._

Robin goes very still across from her, his expression changes from panicked to what looks like broken, then angry, and she starts to worry she’s only made things worse.

His jaw clenches, then unclenches, and he says, “Darling, if there is one thing I never want to hear again in my life, it’s those words falling from your lips. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to say that, ever again.”

She’s still confused but her heart doesn’t seem to be, it swells in her chest and makes her eyes burn with emotion. Robin pushes off from the counter and strides toward her quickly, his hands moving to cup her face so he can look deep into her eyes.

“What I meant when I said it’s not right, is that we’re standing in your kitchen, not lying in bed,” he says, his tone changing quickly, softening so fast it makes her lose her breath. “I meant I wasn’t able to undress you, exposing your perfect, beautiful body excruciatingly slowly so I could cover every inch of your skin with my tongue.” He sweeps his thumbs across her cheek bones, and Regina starts to tremble with pent up emotion. “I meant that I didn’t bring candles to set the lighting, and oils to rub your back.” She fights a small smile. Jesus, he’s such a romantic. He lowers his voice to just above a whisper, threads his fingers through her hair and says, “I meant that I haven’t told you I loved you,” she swallows thickly, goosebumps breaking across her arms as fear swells in her chest. Robin must see it, but he just bumps her nose with his and continues, “And I meant that you’re not wearing my ring - not quite yet.”

She’s suddenly breathing very quickly, her face feels hot, her kitchen appears tiny, the world seems like it’s closing in on her, and she tries to pull away from him but he holds her steady.

“There’s no rush,” he adds, “I’m in no hurry to push you towards something you’re not ready for. But you seem to be wanting to do some things that are shared between a man and his wife, and I’m not familiar with the rules of propriety in this realm. In my realm, I’d put a ring on your finger before we ventured down such a path.”

“Oh, Robin,” she breathes, her hands finding his waist and pulling him close. She takes a second to collect herself, to bathe in the pure _goodness _that is Robin Hood, to calm her demons before she goes on. “Things here are quite a bit different,” she explains, “Sex outside of marriage is much more common, there’s even a standard of sorts, around the third date being the ‘jumping off’ point for it.”

“The third date?!” he exclaims, pulling back to look at her. “That’s awfully quick isn’t it?!”

Regina smirks and tugs him back to her, glad to not be the only one who still remembers the old-fashioned courtships.

He holds her for another moment, stroking her back comfortingly, then asks with this adorable lilt of hope in his voice, “So does this mean, uh, does this mean anytime then, for us?”

She grins against his chest and fights a laugh. “Well not _any_ time,” she teases, “Some of us have jobs to go to, children to raise, and idiot townsfolk to save.”

Robin smiles, tips her chin up to him and presses a kiss to her lips. “Ah, that you do, darling,” he agrees. He moves his arms to lock around her lower back, then his smile widens even further, he gives her a _very_ suggestive look and adds, “But just think how far past the third date mark we are.”

* * *

** _ New York - July 22nd, 2016  _ **

He took her to the hospital.

Regina supposes she should be angry that he didn’t respect her wishes, that she woke up under these unfamiliar bright white lights with a needle in her hand and bandages on her face, with pain medication coursing through her veins and the steady beep-beep-beep of the pulse oximeter on her finger. For a while she lets herself be mad - she lays perfectly still under the rough, sterile sheets and stews in the old familiar feeling of being angry with someone else, while she tries to decide if she wants to make a run for it or let the hospital staff finish what they started in taking care of the wounds on her face. Then she remembers she’s not supposed to be seeking help for her punishments, and she’s out of bed and changed back into her clothes in the next thirty seconds, yanking her hood up and her IV out, her steps quick, though a little unsteady as she follows the signs toward the rear exit door of the hospital.

She walks two full blocks then gets in a taxi - she doesn’t usually use a car service but she has to get out of here fast. It’s almost ten in the morning now, and knowing Robin, he’s waiting in the lobby. He was supposed to pick up Roland at eight, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’s found someone to watch him or, _god_, if he is waiting _with Roland_ to make sure she’s okay, and she can’t see him again, she can’t get anywhere near that close to him _ever again_. He’s too wonderful, too beautiful, too pure for her to be within a hundred feet of him. She’ll corrupt him. Her evil will seep from her soul into his, will taint his heart like an infection and spread until it consumes everything he once was, will spread and spread _and spread_ until everything is ruined.

She knows that this is what will happen because it’s what _always_ happens. She’s a monster and it’s what she does, it’s what happens when she gets close to people, and she _must stay away_.

The wounds on her head are nasty, and good punishments for her stupidity. They are well deserved. They throb and ache for days upon end, they make her lose countless hours of sleep and have headaches so intense that she can’t stand upright without vomiting. She doesn’t eat for three days after the beating, can barely keep water down, but she refuses to seek help. She doesn’t deserve help, and it wouldn’t be much of a punishment if she took something to relieve the discomfort of it, now would it?

It’s completely her fault that she’s in this state anyway, her fault that Robin caught on to what was happening. She saw those two men waiting for him and knew they were going to mug him. Robin hadn’t been paying enough attention, he was tired from working so late and she saw it coming well before he did. So, she made herself the easier target, got ahead of him and waltzed right in front of that alley, ripe for the picking, stumbling a bit as if she was drunk and making the famed ‘walk of shame’ home. The miscreants couldn’t resist, just as she knew they wouldn’t. For who would ever pick Robin over _her _to attack? She is small, _tiny _compared to him, less than nothing, especially without her magic.

The bigger man was quick to grab her, to wrap his fingers around her throat with enough force to leave individual bruises from across her neck as he held her up against the wall. He didn’t need to be quite so rough, she wasn’t going to fight them, not at first, but the gangly one went through her pockets and found her wallet much too quickly. Robin hadn’t passed them by yet, and she needed to distract them for longer, needed their attention on her so Robin could make it the last block home. So she used a little of her extra speed and strength to snatch her pocketbook back, made a comment about the skinny one’s ugly, hooked nose, and the better looking one’s inability to please a woman in the bedroom, and that certainly got their attention.

She held perfectly still for them while the big one slammed her up against the wall a couple of times and the gangly one blacked her eye, making sure their backs were turned to the street, trying to look past them and discretely watch for Robin. The only problem was that the gangly one hit harder than he looked like he would, and the third punch he threw had her seeing stars, then the fourth one had her losing her footing. She felt the two men start to haul her deeper into the alley, and she could have made a run for it, could have used her speed or her strength to break free, but all she could think was _good_. She deserved this, deserved whatever new punishment they were about to give her, and it would be all the more distraction from Robin. By the time they would be through with her, Robin would be safely locked away in his apartment for the night, and she would have paid some recompense with her blood, or her dignity, or whatever else they wanted from her. So Regina didn’t fight to break free - instead, she let herself go limp in their arms while they dragged her further into the darkness to dole out the treatment that was undoubtedly warranted.

Her only mistake was that she hadn’t lured those men further into the alley to begin with. If she had gotten them to chase her in there a little deeper, or if she had kept her footing better, Robin would never have seen or heard what was going on. It’s her fault he came to her rescue, that he threw himself into the middle of a situation that could have gotten him killed. He’s such a good man, a _hero _through and through, and Regina hates herself for being so stupid, for yet again making a mistake that could ruin someone’s life. If something had happened to Robin last night, without Marian in the picture, Roland would essentially be an orphan.

Pure loathing shivers across her skin, bile rises in her throat, and Regina curls her lip in disgust. She is the worst - the absolute worst. It’s no wonder that even her own son couldn’t love her.

She vows to stay away from Robin and Roland, to stop watching, to stop following them, because clearly her presence has done nothing but put them in harm’s way.


	4. Chapter Three

** _ New York - May 10th, 2016 _ **

It’s been a bad few days.

Two days ago Robin got divorced, yesterday his son’s kindergarten teacher called to inform him that she’d caught Roland stealing from his classmate _again_, and today, well, he doesn’t know why, but today he just feels _extra_ shitty. Like he’s forgetting something, some special day, but he’s checked his phone and all his calendars and for the life of him he cannot figure out what it is. There’s just something about today that’s _chewing_ at him, and the fact that he can’t put his finger on it is irritating the living daylights out of him.

Marian has decided she doesn’t want to split custody of Roland, which he’s both thankful for and confused over. She’s become a different person since they moved to the city, so different from the woman he loved when they lived upstate. Marian used to dote on Roland constantly, couldn’t stand to be separated from him, but the second they moved to the city she wanted almost nothing to do with him. It’s been heartbreaking to watch his son endure her rejection, and neither Robin nor Roland has ever managed to get a real explanation from her as to how she could possibly have such a change of heart. So in the end, he’s attributed the change in her to some sort of mid-life crisis, or a nervous breakdown perhaps, but regardless of the reason, it still stings.

Robin tried to be reasonable, he tried to be understanding, but she made it nearly impossible for him. All she ever seemed to want was sex, and _just_ sex - no talking, no cuddling, not even kissing. People can say what they like about men, but Robin is admittedly a bit of a romantic, and Marian’s attitude in the bedroom was so off-putting from their very first night in the city, that he was never actually able to perform his husbandly duties. This angered Marian, infuriated her into fits of rage that he had never seen from her before. This only managed to drive them further and further apart until finally, several weeks after they had arrived in New York she simply walked out of the apartment one morning, a simple, “I’ll send divorce papers in the mail,” thrown over her shoulder as carelessly as if they hadn’t spent the past fifteen years devoted to one another.

He’s done his best to pick himself up though, to piece his and Roland’s hearts back together and give them a decent life while he figures out what his long term plan is. He’s got a two year lease on his apartment so he’ll be staying at least that long, but after that, he’s not sure. Robin is not a city person - they only moved down here because of Marian’s job transfer, and now, well, he’s just not sure he wants to raise his boy in a place that has more pavement than grass, smells of sewer, and sounds like police sirens. Not when Roland could be climbing trees and breathing fresh air in a backyard that actually belongs to him.

He watches Roland go down the slide for at least the thirtieth time this morning, smiling and giggling and waving at him, when he notices someone standing just beyond the playground, watching the children run amok. Robin gets up from his bench and makes his way toward his son, wanting to get a better look at the person - he’s suspicious of everyone, you can never be too careful in this city - and as he draws nearer he sees that it’s a woman.

She’s dressed richly in a long black overcoat, knee-high boots and gloves, her black hair shiny in the morning sun and just touching the tops of her shoulders. She’s very pretty - gorgeous, actually - and Robin’s stomach drops out a bit with excitement as he closes the distance. She certainly doesn’t appear suspicious, she’s not doing anything particularly villainous, just watching the children play as she leans against the iron rail. He checks on Roland and loiters by the slide for a few minutes - it’s much closer to the woman than his previous spot - stealing glances at her and trying to work up the nerve to go and introduce himself. It’s not every day you meet a stunner like that at the playground.

Then he notices she’s crying.

He doesn’t know this woman, he’s never met her before in his life, but the fact that she’s standing at the playground at 7AM on a sunny Saturday morning, watching the kids play while these silent tears stream down her face just sort of wrecks him. He has an overwhelming urge to comfort her, reaches inside his jacket pocket for the pack of tissues he keeps there and turns to make his way over to her.

But she’s gone.

Robin looks in every direction, his hopes sinking quickly with the fact that he’s blown it, he waited too long and missed his shot - not that a woman like that would’ve given him a shot anyway - but still, he could have tried. He could have at least fired his arrow at the target and hoped to hit something, he needn’t necessarily have hit the bullseye. He could have offered some gentle words and brought a bit of kindness into her morning, when she was obviously having a miserable one.

With a heavy sigh, he collects Roland and they make their way home, but Robin still can’t shake the thought that he missed out on something great today, some anniversary or event that he just can’t seem to remember. And on top of that, he didn’t get to say hi to that pretty woman at the park, either.

Today is a ruddy bad day.

* * *

** _ New York - August 6th, 2016 _ **

She tried to stop.

She made it almost twelve days without breaking her vow, without standing outside of Robin’s building and staring up at the second floor. Almost twelve days of not checking the locks on their apartment after Robin and Roland go to bed. Of not reading to Roland through his window on nights when Robin works late and Sara puts him to bed early. Twelve days of not following Robin to work, the supermarket, the playground or to the babysitter’s house - not even to the newsstand to buy the Sunday paper.

Almost twelve days.

But on the twelfth day, all she could think about was Roland. Of how he must have thought she abandoned him just like Marian did. That she left him without a care, without a second thought, and suddenly she’d been pulling on her hood and jacket before she could stop herself, running down the street and scaling the fire escape like a professional gymnast in her desperation to show him that she wouldn’t, she _couldn’t _ever do that to him.

He was quick to forgive, he was too happy to see her to be angry with her, and she’d spent almost the entire night outside his window, reading to him long after he fell asleep, unable to stop herself from repeating the storybook she’d brought him, over and over, until her voice grew hoarse from whispering for so long.

When she got back home in the morning she branded her arm with the date - 8/4/2016 - as punishment for her weakness, because even if she had a good reason to return to watching, she had absolutely no reason for the length of time she spent with Roland. She had no excuse for the way she lingered outside of his window, reading to him and watching him sleep. No, that was selfish, that was for _her_, and she doesn’t deserve to be comforted. Not when her vile presence is the cause for all of the problems in the first place.

Perhaps someday she’ll learn from her mistakes and she won’t need the extra punishments - perhaps someday she won’t be such a failure, someday she’ll be less of a disappointment, but she doubts it.

She’s trailing Robin home from the supermarket now. It’s still early in the evening, but she watched him drop off Roland at Sara’s for the night, and she’s not sure why the change in his routine has her guard up, has her paying extra close attention, but it does. Typically when he’s working late he goes straight from Sara’s house to the office, but tonight he didn’t bring his shoulder bag, and he stopped off at the supermarket while walking in the direction of his apartment, not his office, so she’s not sure what he has planned tonight, and the uncertainty makes her stomach twist.

He’s balancing a large paper bag of groceries in one arm and texting with the other hand when the screeching of tires, followed by the terrible sound of metal crashing against metal causes Regina to snap her head up, and suddenly there are huge chunks of debris flying in all directions and - _oh god_ \- one of them is headed straight at Robin.

Regina doesn’t give it a second thought, she just simply _reacts_.

She reaches him just in time - throws her body into his with all her might and shoves him into safety, the projectile just barely missing them as they stumble backward, flailing wildly, Robin’s phone and the bag of groceries flying out of his hands as he clings to Regina and tries to keep his balance.

“_Bloody-fucking-hell!_” he shouts, gripping her biceps tightly as they finally regain their footing and - _oh, Robin_ \- he swings her protectively behind him while his eyes track the object - a piece of a motorcycle fender - that almost killed him. “You just saved my life!”

“I -” she thinks to argue but then remembers she shouldn’t be talking to him at all. And they certainly shouldn’t be touching. She looks down and realizes - oh no - that his hands are on her arms. He’s _still _touching her. His hands are _still _on her. _Oh god oh god oh god_. She has to leave. She has to leave _right now_.

The accident doesn't seem that bad - the biker is up and screaming at the pedestrian who apparently caused him to crash into a car, and the driver of the car is in turn screaming at the motorcyclist. She turns away from the scene and the twenty or so witnesses who have gathered, their cell phones filming every second of the interaction, and tries to think of the best way to get out of here.

“Regina?" Robin says breathlessly. "Is that you?”

She freezes, and a million thoughts race through her head. Does he remember her? Does he remember Storybrooke? Did her saving him somehow restore his memory? She’s not sure what to say, doesn’t know how to respond, but then he takes care of that for her.

“You’re Regina Mills, right? I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Robin Locksley, I’m uh,” he rubs the back of his neck in that way he does when he gets nervous, and Regina has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from making the desperate sound that’s trying to work its way out of her chest. “I’m the bloke who lent you a hand in the alley the other night.”

_Oh_. Right. Of course that’s what he’s referring to.

“I remember you,” she says sadly, stupidly. She has to go. She keeps repeating it to herself, her eyes darting around looking for the best route, but she doesn't move.

Robin grins and his smile directed at her feels like the full force of the sun warming her skin. It almost makes her squint. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing,” he says, then adds, “Sorry about taking you to the hospital. I know you said you didn’t want that, but you passed out and when I couldn’t rouse you, I figured you’d rather wake up in the hospital than on my couch.”

She almost smiles. _If he only knew how wrong he was._

“It was the right thing to do,” she offers.

He gives her another easy grin, then seems to realize he’s still holding onto her arms, and they both look down at where they’re joined. Robin lets go of her, looking sheepish, and she could cry with the loss of him, even though she’s in long sleeves and didn’t get to feel his skin against hers. It’s the closest contact she has had in ages, and it’s from the one person she pines for most.

Robin steps back and curses, motioning to her black pants as he says guiltily, “I’m so sorry, it appears I’ve spilled orange juice all over you.”

She looks down too and finally notices the mess. The orange, sticky liquid coats both of her legs and has soaked into her socks; it’s hot today and the pulp is bright against the dark of her pants, it feels disgusting and she cringes, already wanting to be out of the mess. She’s going to have to go home and change immediately. There’s no way she can clean this up with a napkin.

Lovely.

He must be watching her react, because he cuts into her train of thought and offers, “So, I’m not sure where you live, but I’m only another two blocks up the street. I’ve got a washer and dryer in my unit,” he pauses, blushing before he asks, “By any chance, would you let me wash those for you? I could give you some sweats to wear, and I could fix you something to eat while we wait - that’s what the rest of these groceries are,” he looks around and quickly starts gathering up the items that have spilled out of his grocery bag.

Regina doesn’t say anything. She’s not strong enough to tell him no, so she just stands there mutely, praying he’ll give up and go home without her, that he’ll figure out she’s insane and leave her to stand in the street when she fails to respond.

“Regina?” he prompts, softening his voice and straightening up with his grocery bag. “What do you think?” he asks again, his eyes that perfect bright blue, his laugh lines beautiful, his smile so hopeful and sincere that she instantly caves for him, unwilling and unable to tell him no.

“Yes, that - that sounds wonderful,” she tells him in a voice that’s strained and raspy, meaning every word more than he could ever know. She manages to sort of half-smile half-grimace when his eyes light up with excitement, then he nods in the direction of his apartment and they walk side by side to the one place Regina knows she should never go, but does not have the power to keep herself from.

When they arrive at his apartment Robin gets her set up with a pair of his grey sweatpants and some soft socks, then asks if she’d like to use his shower to wash the juice off of her legs. She agrees, then spends a solid ten minutes just standing in his ensuite bathroom staring at his toiletries and smelling his cologne, hating herself - her past, her choices, her degenerate nature - more and more by the second. She swears that she’s going to leave, tries so hard to build up the will to do it, to make a run for the front door before she causes something terrible to happen, but her wretched feet just _will not move_.

A light knock on the bathroom door jars her from her thoughts of escape, and Robin’s soft offer of, “If you’d like to chuck your clothes out here, I’ll get them started straight away for you,” slices through her heart like one of his fabled arrows, his sweet, kind gesture reminding her of all the other wonderful things he once did for her, and she starts to cry. She can’t function like this, she can’t _think_, so she strips down, refusing to look in the mirror as she sets her sticky leggings and socks outside the bathroom door. Then she climbs into his shower and tries to wash off the orange juice he spilled on her, scrubbing herself mercilessly with his pinewood body wash, hoping it will permeate through the corruption that coats her skin before she has a chance to make things worse.

Fifteen minutes later she’s still there, balled up under the hot spray of the water, shaking uncontrollably as the sorrow of what she has lost overwhelms her for the millionth time. The only thing worse than the feeling that pours from her chest is that she knows she must immediately remove herself from this situation. She cannot stay here, not for another _second -_ but getting up off the floor of his shower with the intention of leaving his presence is proving to be even harder than watching him cross the town line in Storybrooke, and she just can’t do it.

* * *

** _ New York - August 6th, 2016 _ **

_Alright, mate, breathe, take deep breaths,_ he tells himself. _You’re going to get through this - it’s just like riding a bicycle. _

Robin has absolutely no idea how he could have had such a stroke of luck as to run into Regina Mills again, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make the most out of this opportunity. There’s something about her that draws him in, something that makes him want to know her, want to… well, want to think some very ungentlemanly thoughts, if he’s being honest.

The first time they met he had, of course, noticed her beauty - it was impossible to miss - but that was definitely not the time or situation for him to be making eyes at her. She had been badly hurt, and all he truly had wanted to do was see to it that she was safe and well-tended. So, he’d kept vigil in the waiting room at the hospital, wanting to be certain that when they released her she could get home alright, and that someone would look in on her if she wasn’t feeling well. But when he asked about her condition for about the tenth time that morning, he had been brusquely informed that she’d already left. He had been so disappointed and thoroughly confused on how he could’ve missed her exit. Especially considering he hadn’t stopped staring at those double doors they wheeled her through since they took her back for treatment,

Then the hospital administrator had informed him that they hadn’t gotten any information about her - no address, no phone number, no driver’s license, no _insurance_, and out of some sense of responsibility for her, he’d volunteered to have them send the bill to him. He doesn’t know Regina’s story, but the bruising on her face had been much worse under the hospital lights than he had originally thought it was, and he’d been filled with regret that he hadn’t interrupted the situation sooner. He was livid that he hadn’t given those bastards a better beating - they certainly deserved it - and he promised himself that if he ever got a chance to make things up to her, he’d do everything in his power to do just that. The way he sees it, paying for her stay at a hospital she specifically asked him _not _to take her to was the first step in that direction.

Apparently, step two is spilling orange juice all over her.

Robin leans forward on the kitchen counter and drops his head into his hands, groaning at his innate ability to make a fool of himself at all the wrong times. Just once he’d like to be suave - just once he’d like to be the sexy Englishman who swoops in and saves the day without making a complete arse of himself.

As he unpacks his groceries, he can hear the shower still running and fights a small smile. Regina’s been in there quite a while, but he’s not all that surprised - his water pressure is amazing and even he finds it difficult to leave the massaging spray of the showerhead some mornings. He’s already got her leggings and socks started in his washer after reading the tag to make sure he didn’t do anything even more ridiculous like shrink them to a size befitting Roland, and he’s feeling a little nervous, to be honest. She seems quiet and reserved but he really does want to pay her back for saving his life today, and if they happen to hit it off, well, bully to that too.

Tonight has certainly taken a turn from what he had originally planned. His project at the children’s hospital is finally complete, though he nearly killed himself with late nights at work and a lack of sleep to get it done, so his plan was to give himself a little reward. He was going to make himself his favorite dinner - well, his favorite _adult_ dinner, seared duck breast with fig sauce and green beans - polish off that half a pint of whiskey he’s had stashed away since his divorce, and have himself some quality ‘me’ time. He was going to let himself really unwind, just this once. But that plan suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing anymore.

A few minutes after he gets the fig sauce going on the stove, Regina appears in the hallway. He looks up with the movement, his nerves fluttering in his belly the second his eyes land on her - _christ_ \- she’s _gorgeous_, and suddenly his mouth feels very, _very _dry.

Her thick black hair is about shoulder length when it’s straight, but after her shower it’s a bit shorter, because apparently it’s naturally wavy, and now it’s recklessly curling about her face and neck, making her look like she’s just come from the beach. She’s still wearing her long sleeved v-neck t-shirt, but the gray sweatpants he gave her are much too large on her small frame, and they sit low on her hips, even though she’s rolled them several times. The cuffs of his pants are tight so at least they don’t drag on the floor, but she’s wearing the socks he gave her and the blue and red striped cuffs of those are rolled over the top of the pants, and - _blimey -_ she’s just the most adorable woman he’s ever seen in his life. He can’t help but grin at her.

“What?” she asks, her tone defensive as he ducks his head and looks back to his fig sauce.

“How was your shower?” he deflects, seasoning the green beans.

“Fine,” Regina says quietly.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, reaching for one of the two glasses he had poured and holding it out to her, “But I took a shot and guessed that you were a red wine drinker. Pinot Noir alright?”

Regina’s pretty brown eyes meet his with surprise as she takes the glass from him with a nod, and Robin smiles, proud of himself. He thought so - she has that refined quality about her, it’s something about her posture, or perhaps the way she speaks - there’s something very formal about her that makes him feel like wine is typically her drink of choice.

They each take a sip of the wine, but his confidence waffles when she pulls the glass down quickly after the very first taste, looking at the dark liquid with wide eyes for a moment before she fixes him with a hard look that makes him quite nervous, enough so that he asks, “No good?”

“What brand is this?” she asks without answering his question.

Robin roots around in the kitchen until he finds the bottle. It’s nothing particularly special, just something he found in the supermarket today. He honestly doesn’t drink much wine, he’s a whiskey or ale guy, but the internet said to have Pinot Noir with duck, and he was trying to class it up tonight so he’d grabbed a relatively expensive bottle with the most appealing label from the store. He sets it in front of her and Regina’s mouth opens, then closes, then she runs her fingers over the label for a moment, and Robin isn’t quite sure what to do.

“I’ve got a Riesling stashed away somewhere if this isn’t to your liking,” he tries, “But aside from that I’m afraid I don't have any other options.” He feels like a complete git and reaches for the bottle, meaning to put it away so he can present her with the white wine option instead.

“No!” she says quickly, gripping the neck of bottle in front of her tightly with her free hand. She seems to catch herself though, and promptly releases it with a shake of her head, and Robin could swear she looks like she might cry, though he has no idea what he’s done to provoke such a strong reaction. She laughs then, a soft, raspy sound that he thinks sounds a bit forced but isn’t unwelcome by any means as she tells him, “This is my absolute favorite wine. I just… I can’t believe you have it.”

He’s finally got one thing right tonight, and relief rushes through him. He smiles broadly.

“Oh, well then,” he smirks and lifts his glass triumphantly to hers, “Here’s to happy coincidences.”

Regina’s eyes soften and she almost looks shy when she looks up at him through her thick eyelashes, then carefully clinks her glass against his. She takes another sip of the wine, closing her eyes to savor the flavor, and Robin watches her throat work - his heartbeat picking up when she swallows, his eyes following the beautiful, long lines of her neck all the way down to the collar of her shirt - _christ - _then he promptly tears himself away from her to return to making their dinner. He’s got to stop looking at her like that. It’s completely inappropriate and she’s going to catch him at it and think he’s a leche, a creep who just wants to get in her knickers before he gets to know her, which isn’t the case at all, honestly. It’s just that she’s so bloody gorgeous he can’t seem to help himself.

Somehow, Robin manages to make their dinner without burning it or scaring Regina off, which is a larger victory than he originally anticipated. Despite his best efforts to ease the tension, the entire time he moves about the kitchen she seems jumpy and nervous, as if the slightest noise or motion might send her running for the front door, and he’s certain it would have happened already had she had her own clothes to leave in. By the time they sit down at his table to eat, it’s quite clear she’s not interested in anything more than regaining her cleaned property and getting on her way. Robin’s alright with that - he knew it was a long shot that she might even want to be friends with a bloke like him, it’s not like he’s Mr. Wonderful or anything, so he does his best to make polite dinner conversation to get them through the time until he can get her leggings put into the dryer.

They discuss his job and how he came to live in the city last year. He tells her that he’s divorced, they gloss over a few other general topics, and overall it’s a decent conversation, if not a bit one sided. Regina seems to be a very private person - when he asks, she tells him she works for the government but doesn’t elaborate on her profession much more than to inform him that she specializes in surveillance. She tells him she’s also single, and she hasn’t been in the city for very long, only a few months, so they’re both relatively new to the area.

“Do you have children?” he asks, hopeful that she likes kids. He could talk about Roland all night - it’s the one topic he needs absolutely no prompting on - there’s always some story, some detail he can come up with about his boy to fill the silence.

“I -” her fork scrapes loudly against her plate and she sets it down quickly, then folds her hands in her lap beneath the table. She furrows her brow and stares hard at her glass of wine, then meets his eyes with a look that drives right through to his soul, shakes something up inside of him, makes his stomach plummet to the floor as she says sadly, “I always wanted them. I tried, but I wasn’t, I couldn’t…”

It’s such a personal detail to give him after her blatant avoidance of all his other questions that Robin isn’t quite sure how to handle it. A part of him, a very large part of him, wants to hug her, but that’s certainly not allowed at this point, so he tries to comfort her in another way.

“I have a son, his name is Roland,” he tells her with a sympathetic smile. “In the beginning, my ex and I wanted at least a dozen children,” he smirks as she raises her eyebrows. “But we had a really difficult time conceiving Roland. He’s my miracle boy - he beat all the odds, never should have made it, but here he is.” Robin pauses for a second, then hands her his phone to show her a picture of his son, watching her carefully and trying to read her reaction. She smiles at it, her thumb strokes down the side of his phone absently, and he takes that as a sign that she likes hearing about Roland, so he trudges forward. “I’m so sorry you never got to experience such a miracle,” he says, “If you’d ever like to meet mine, I’m sure he’d love it. He’s about the friendliest bloke you’ll meet this side of the Hudson.” Regina laughs softly, still looking at the picture on his phone, and he continues, “But be careful what you wish for, he’s likely to talk your ear right off once you get him going.”

“Mm, like father, like son,” she murmurs absently, then her eyes widen and she brings her head up quickly, her hand moving to cover her mouth as if she’s appalled that she’s just teased him back.

Robin barks out a laugh at her comment, then another at her reaction, and then he can’t _stop_ laughing. _Bloody hell_, she’s adorable.

“Quite right, I’m afraid,” he chuckles. He stands and at her indication that she’s finished eating, he clears their plates.

Regina trails him into the kitchen with the leftovers and he packs the food away - the dishes can wait, he’d much rather spend his time getting to know his guest. He turns and sees her standing off to the side, leaning against the countertop and fiddling with the drawstring on his sweatpants. She’s trying to pull out the knot so she can tighten the waistband, which has slipped down again and is riding low on her hips, showing off a sliver of her olive toned skin. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s moving toward her, his fingers bumping hers as he says, “Oh sorry - that knot’s a bit tricky.”

Robin honestly doesn’t mean to start touching her without her permission. He’s just so used to dressing Roland everyday, to jumping in and assisting his son when he needs help with his shoes or pants or shirts that it’s second nature for him to do it. It’s not until Regina sucks in a sharp breath as his knuckles swipe across the smooth skin of her lower belly while he tugs roughly on the knot, that Robin becomes aware of what he’s done, but he’s almost got the knot loosened, so he tugs again. This time her hips jerk toward him, her thighs bump his, the back of his hands press firmly into her lean stomach, and when her fingers wrap around his wrists in an iron grip, it all slams into him at once.

Oh fuck. What in the hell is he doing?

Robin knows he’s standing way too close to her - so close he can feel her body heat against him - her shaky breaths audible as she holds tightly to his wrists and he stands frozen with the drawstring of the pants between his fingers. He’s got the knot loosened but that’s really not the point anymore, the point now is that he’s got this zap of intense attraction for her electrifying his skin, begging him to remove the half-step that remains between them and press his body to hers. He bets she smells amazing, that she tastes incredible, that she feels perfect - soft but firm, her curves are so beautifully rounded. He’s certain her breasts will fit just right in each of his palms, _knows_ he can lift her weight easily, that he could pick her up and… _christ_, he needs to back up but he just…. doesn’t.

When after another few charged seconds Regina doesn’t push him away from her, she doesn’t protest his presence, he starts to slowly, _slowly_ pull the knot in the drawstring loose. He can do this, he can hold back his raging hormones, his sex-starved body - he can be a gentleman. He can finish the job he came over here to do… right?

Untying a simple knot should not be so sexy.

She keeps her hands on his wrists as his fingers work the knot free, her grip firm but not resistant, and when the loops are unwound he takes each string between his thumb and forefingers and pulls lightly, letting the long cords slip between the pads of his fingers - now unhindered by the knot - lets them slide all the way to the end until they fall right out of his grasp.

“There,” he whispers. Why is he whispering? _Shit_. He should not be whispering to her. “Better?” He picks up the strings again for absolutely no reason, then holds them close to the waistband, tugging lightly, almost playfully as he ducks his head and stares down at his hands hovering so close to her. He wants to see her stomach so badly. Wants to put his mouth on that sliver of skin and lick his way across it. _Jesus_ he’s got it bad for her.

He can feel Regina’s unsteady breaths puffing against his neck, and he’s not sure what to do. He wants to put his hands on her hips, wants to press his body against hers, wants to kiss her, but she’s still holding tightly to his wrists, and he doesn’t want to push her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Robin tugs again on the drawstrings of her sweatpants and lowers the timbre of his voice, keeps it quiet and careful between them as he asks, “Does my being this close make you uncomfortable?”

Her breath shudders out but her grip loosens, and she whispers, “No, not uncomfortable.”

Robin takes a tiny step closer, near enough now that her thick hair, which is half dry, brushes his cheek. “Would you object if I…” he starts then trails off, caving and brushing his thumbs along that irresistible exposed strip of skin at her bikini line. Regina shivers under his touch. “If I were to kiss you?”

Her hands smooth over his wrists, then up his forearms while his heart beats frantically in anticipation of her answer. He wraps his fingers around her waist, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles over her hip bones, noticing that her pants have slouched a bit further, and _\- oh god_ \- now he can see the waistband of her knickers, and they happen to be black - _fuck. _

He makes an embarrassing little cough in the back of his throat at the realization, causing Regina to look up at the same time he looks down. They’re so close that their noses bump with the movement, their eyes lock - jesus she has the most expressive, beautiful eyes - and when she breathes the word, “_Please,_” he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to hers.

Their kiss is desperate, right from the start. For every hard press and pull of his lips, she meets him back equally, her grip on his arms tight, almost bruising as she shifts her hands to his biceps. Robin presses closer to her, threading one hand into her hair and sucking on her bottom lip, their chests bumping as he wraps his other arm tightly around her waist. It doesn’t even occur to him not to flick his tongue against her lips - he does it almost immediately, and she opens her mouth for him, perfectly in sync with his motions, moving as naturally against him as if they do this all the time.

He slides his tongue further into her mouth, probing deeply, exploring, savoring the flavor that is _Regina Mills_. Robin feels like he’s in heaven, like he’s found his perfect match in her. She feels incredible under his hands, so small but with a strength he can feel as she moves against him, sliding her hands up over the tops of his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck. He pulls back just a bit to press quick, excited kisses to her lips, smiling more and more as they makeout, skating his hands over her hips and lower back, reveling in the feel of her against him. When he gets a bit bold and rocks his hips against her, Regina’s arms tighten around his neck and pull him back down to her for slow, deep kisses, a moan tearing from her throat, and he’s no longer concerned that she’s not into this, because she definitely, _definitely_ is.

Then suddenly her hands are on his chest and she’s pushing him back, and his feet are moving but his lips aren’t - he’s leaning toward her for another sweet kiss - which she gives him - like her mouth is in disagreement with her hands.

Her voice is quiet but extremely stressed as she mutters, “_Fuck!_” her hands threading into her hair roughly as she backs up until she bumps against the kitchen counter. “_No, no, no._”

“My apologies,” Robin says, breathless from their kisses, confused how he could have misread her signals so badly. “Christ, Regina I’m so sorry, I thought you wanted to -”

“I did-” she cuts him off, shaking her head back and forth, her eyes wild as she scrubs her hands over her face. “I did, very much, you don’t even - I can’t tell you how much.” There is a heavy pause between them, where Robin is dying to ask her what she means by that, but just as he opens his mouth she cuts him off and says, “I’m sorry Robin, I’m so sorry for this. I have to go - I, I won’t bother you again.”

“Bother me?” his confusion is mounting by the second.

Regina blitzes past him and makes for the front door, pausing to grab her boots and yank them on over the socks he gave her, her movements jerky and panicked.

“Regina, wait, please - what - what about your clothes?” Robin pleads, grasping at straws, trying to find a reason for her to stay, but it’s impossible when he doesn’t know why she’s leaving in the first place.

She doesn’t reply, doesn’t say _anything _else, just swings his front door open and darts out it without a backward glance, and Robin is left standing in his empty apartment, with absolutely no idea what he did wrong.


	5. Chapter Four

** _ Storybrooke - November 26th, 2015 _ **

“All I’m asking is to have my son join me for Thanksgiving dinner, you would think that wouldn’t be too much to ask,” Regina bites off, her temper rising by the second. “Especially since I haven’t had the pleasure of sharing dinner with him in over two weeks.”

“Yeah well, you made your bed,” Emma starts, but is promptly cut off by Snow.

“Henry has made it pretty clear that he’d rather spend today with us,” her step-daughter tells her, those big hazel eyes shining with determination as she stands in the doorway to the Charming’s loft. “I’m not going to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“He’s fifteen years old,” Regina snaps, “He doesn’t get to decide - that’s what _parents_ are for. _I’m _his mother, and _I _decide.” She leans forward and Snow recoils from her, trying to cover it but the fear is blatant in her posture, and a shot of hurt streaks through Regina. It stings that Snow can still be afraid of her, that after all she’s done to prove herself, all she’s done to show them that she’s no longer a villain, it _still_ doesn’t seem to have made much difference in their opinion of her.

“Henry!” Regina calls, “Get your things, you’re coming home, _right _now.” She’s through with the silent treatment he’s given her. She can’t take another day, another second of it. She’s tried everything she can think of to win back his favor - has tried to speak with him every day since he marched out of their house, but even when she manages to get around the countless blockades that the Charmings have erected to keep him away from her, he won’t speak to her, he won’t even _look_ at her. She’s at her wit’s end, desperate to have him back, and since patience and niceties haven’t worked, she doesn’t know any other way to persuade him than to get him away from the Charmings so she can make her case.

“Regina, stop,” Emma butts in, “I’m also his mom, and the kid wants to stay here. So we’re going to let him stay, and if you don’t like that, well, maybe you’ll think about that the next time you make him a promise that you don’t intend to keep.”

“How dare you,” Regina drops her voice, anger rising quickly to the surface, “You don’t know _anything_ about my relationship with Henry, about what I -”

“I know he thinks you broke your promise to him. I know he thinks you’re still a villain.” Emma’s voice grows more and more arrogant as she comes up behind Snow, where she pops a hip and crosses her arms. “And if I’ve learned anything since coming to Storybrooke, it’s that when Henry says someone’s a villain, he’s not wrong.”

“What do I have to do to prove to you people that I’ve changed?” Regina cries, throwing her hands in the air, desperation starting to creep in. They’re not going to let her see him, they’re not going to let her see her own son. Oh god, this can’t be happening. They have _no right_. Regina raises her chin in defiance. “For all this talk about hope and second chances, you’re certainly quick to write me off before you even _ask me_ what happened,” she snarls.

“Did you sleep with Robin after Marian came back?” Emma challenges, staring at her with a knowing look.

“What does that have to do with anything? How is that anyone’s business?” Regina shakes her head. “What does my sex life have to do with my status as a hero or a villain?”

“Jesus, Regina,” David sighs, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Oh shut up, David,” Regina snaps, temper flaring out of her control now. “You and Snow had an affair and no one batted an eye at that, but Emma drags my soulmate's wife back from the dead, I have one moment of weakness, and suddenly I’m the bad guy? I can’t win with you people.”

Emma’s tone is condescending as she says, “You know, the difference is that my parents have always been heroes, and they were only separated because of _you_ to begin with. And it matters that you slept with Robin because you told us that you were trying _so hard_ to find a cure for Marian, but instead you and Robin were spending all that time hooking up. You let an innocent woman suffer so you could get your rocks off - you misled Henry and let him believe that you were trying to help, but in reality you were doing exactly what you always do.”

“Just what the hell are you implying, Swan?” Regina growls.

“I’m not _implying _anything. You always do whatever’s in _your _best interest, regardless of whether anyone else gets hurt,” Emma says smugly. “It’s all about you, Regina, it’s always all about you. And Henry sees through that - he sees through you now.”

“That’s right,” Henry says from the stairs, and Regina jerks her head in the direction of his voice.

“Henry,” she breathes, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. God, she misses him, she misses her son so, _so_ much. She fights back tears, grits her teeth and says, “Henry, it’s time to come home.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, looking to Emma, who nods approvingly, as if his behavior is to be commended.

“Yes you are,” Regina argues, shifting further into the frame of the door, blocked by Snow and Emma but unwilling to back down. “You’re coming home, where you belong. We have to talk about this, I need a chance to explain things to you. So please, go get your things - we can have Thanksgiving dinner like we always do, and then we can discuss this.”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” he says, shifting uncomfortably, and she can tell his confidence is failing - he looks to Emma again, and she catches the blonde giving him an encouraging nod. Regina clenches her fists in annoyance and shifts her eyes back to Henry.

Henry continues, “In fact, I don’t have anything to say to you until you start telling the truth. Until you admit that you’ve been lying, that you’re a villain, that you weren’t trying to be good. Until then, I - I, don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Henry, that’s not an option,” Regina insists, putting authority into her voice. She can’t lose him, she _can’t_. The Charmings cannot keep him from her. It isn’t fair. He’s _her _son. “Get your things, and let’s go.”

“Regina!” Emma snaps, “He doesn’t want to go and we won’t let you take him against his will. He’s staying here for Thanksgiving, and for as long as he wants after that. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

Despair floods her, this can’t be happening, it _cannot_. First Robin and Roland, now Henry.

“Haven’t you stolen enough time from me?!” Regina shouts, completely losing control. “You’ve already taken an entire year from me Swan, how dare you think I will just stand by and let you steal another holiday, another hour, another _minute _spent with my son. Need I remind you that _you’re _the one who gave him away in the first place? He is more my son that he will ever be yours - just try and get in my way and I swear -_ I will shred you to pieces_, I will -”

“Regina, stop!” Snow screams, and Regina startles from the sound, her attention snapping to Snow, then over to David, who a second ago was standing on the other side of the room, but now is barely two paces away. He’s posturing with one hand wrapped tightly around the handle of his sword, the other protectively on Snow’s shoulder, and when Regina follows his gaze to her own hands, she sees that fireballs have lit and are flaming wildly as she threatens them all.

Regina’s breathing fast, her fury at Emma raging through her, but she fights hard to rein her emotions in, to snuff the fireballs and pull herself back together.

It’s too late though - the damage has been done.

Henry is standing at the top of the stairs with wide eyes that are glued to her hands, horror written across his face at her use of magic, then he turns and runs out of her line of sight before she can reassure him that she wasn’t actually going to hurt anyone.

“You need to leave,” Snow says as she starts to shut the door, but Regina throws her hand up, pressing back in protest.

“Snow,” she tries, “He’s my son, he’s, he’s my son,” her anger fizzles out into desperation and Snow sighs for a moment, then gives her a pitying look and says, “Then maybe you should consider doing what’s he’s asked.”

Then the door is shut in her face, and Regina concedes Thanksgiving dinner with her son for the second year in a row to Emma Swan. She returns to her big empty house, where she had worked all morning to prepare all of Henry’s favorite foods, regardless of whether they were considered ‘Thanksgiving food’ or not, and she throws it in the trash without taking a single bite. Her appetite is ruined, her hope of regaining her son’s faith in her diminishing with each passing minute.

She’s not capable of doing what he asked her to do, because he’s put her in a catch twenty-two. If she were to “admit that she was lying, that she really was a villain, that she wasn’t trying to be good,” then she would actually _be lying_, because she really was trying to be a hero. But if she doesn’t admit to what he wants, he’ll have nothing to do with her. Regina has no idea how to get through to him, no idea how to persuade him, and with the only other person who could possibly support her in this gone off to New York with his wife and son to live happily ever after, well, it seems Regina is doomed to the unhappy ending that the Author so desperately wanted to give her.

She’s starting to think that after she has failed to convince anyone that she is reformed after so many attempts, that perhaps she’ll never be able to prove she’s no longer evil. There must be a reason for that, there must be a reason why she tries her hardest to be good, and true, and honest, but always comes up short in the eyes of the _real _heroes. Maybe it stands to reason that she really _is_ inherently evil, and that’s why they won’t believe her - maybe they can see something, can sense something about her that she’s not aware of. Maybe second chances simply don’t apply to her, because she isn’t _just a villain_. Perhaps she’s something worse… something darker… something rotten to her core.

Perhaps a story filled with misery, despair, and grief is exactly what she deserves.

* * *

** _ New York - May 20, 2016 _ **

“I’m certain that that does not belong to you, sweetie,” Regina says gently through the glass, dropping down onto her knees beside Roland’s window, trying her best not to startle him.

Roland whips his head up from where he is trying to shove a sticker book he stole from one of his classmates under his mattress. Regina holds her finger to her lips in the universal sign for quiet, and adds, “I won’t tell on you, if you don’t tell on me.”

Roland’s eyes are wide and shiny in the light of his nightlight as he stares at her through the glass, indecision written plainly across his round face. He creeps cautiously toward the window and asks, “Are, are you gonna make me give it back?” His whisper is loud, desperation clear in his voice.

“No,” she tells him honestly. “I’m not going to _make _you do anything. But you are going to give it back, all on your own.”

Roland frowns, but after a few seconds he smooths his curls out of his eyes and, still looking very frightened of her, he goes back to shoving his sticker book under his bed until he deems it sufficiently hidden.

“I’m not gonna give it back,” he says obstinately as he comes back over to the window, not brave enough to get too close. She sees that he has an adorable pout on his little face as he draws near, keeping his voice at a level it shouldn’t be heard by the babysitter, Sara, but loud enough that Regina can hear him.

“No?” Regina asks, and he nods determinedly. “Well that’s too bad,” she shakes her head, “That’s too bad indeed.”

Roland immediately takes the bait. “Why?” he steps closer to the window, his curiosity practically radiating from him.

“Well, because I’m looking for someone to help me, someone very, _very_ special,” she gives him a look as if they are discussing important secrets. “But this person must be honest and true, they cannot be a thief.”

Roland furrows his brow in annoyance. “I can be that,” he bites off. “I can help.”

“No, I’m afraid you can’t,” Regina argues, acting forlorn. “For as long as you are a thief, I am afraid you cannot help me with my very important quest.”

“A quest?” Roland asks, eyes wide. “Like, in a storybook?”

Regina turns to him and gives him the brightest smile she can muster. “_Just_ like in a storybook. Do you like storybooks, Roland?” She cringes the second his name comes out of her mouth. He hasn’t told her his name and she _should not _know it. If he was any older he would have caught her slip.

“I _love _storybooks!” he says excitedly, wringing his hands in front of him and glancing around his room, then making a beeline for his bookshelf and coming back with a pile of them. “Papa reads to me when he doesn’t work,” he tells her. “Sara doesn’t, though. My mama used to but she left us.” His expression changes, darkness overtaking his young features with the mention of Marian. Regina’s heart aches with the painful loss for him, while rage at Marian consumes her. She will never understand how that woman could have walked out on these two beautiful souls. They are so good, so pure, so perfect. Marian is a fucking idiot.

“Well,” Regina smiles at him, wishes she could touch his face. “It just so happens that my quest requires that I read storybooks with a very special person.” Roland’s eyes light up while he bounces on the balls of his feet.

“I’m a person,” he says quickly.

“Yes, you are,” she agrees, “And I can see that you are _very _special, but right now, you are also a thief,” she gives him a knowing look, and even in the dim light she can see his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“What if…” he furrows his brow as he thinks, shifting around uncomfortably in front of her. “What if I gave it back?” he reasons. Oh, her sweet Roland, how she has missed him. “Would that make me better again? Then could we read storybooks together?”

“Hmm,” she pretends to think it through for a moment, rubbing her chin for drama, then giving him a very serious look. “I think if you gave it back, with a very nice apology, _and_ you promised never to steal again, that just might do it.”

“Really?!” his excitement skyrockets and she has to shush him before they get caught.

“Yes, I do think that would do it,” she agrees, fighting back tears at how much she loves him, how much she has missed spending time with him. “But you have to do it just like that, you have to say you’re sorry, and promise never to steal again, okay?”

“And then we can read storybooks?” he confirms, eyes wide as he grins hopefully at her.

“Then we can read storybooks.”

“Okay,” he says quickly, going over to his bed, pulling out the sticker book from under his mattress, and stuffing it back into his backpack.

“Who are you?” he asks, flouncing back to the window, his fear of her seemingly gone. “Are you my fairy godmother?”

“No,” she smiles sadly, “I am no fairy godmother. My name is Regina.”

“Genie?” Roland asks, and Regina is confused for a moment until he nods with understanding and says, “Ohhh, like from a lamp?”

She’s about to correct him, then realizes she’s made yet another fatal mistake in giving him her actual name. She should have come up with something, _anything_ other than her own name for him to call her. So she just goes with it and says, “Yes, sort of like that.”

“Wowww,” Roland gasps. “Do I get wishes, Genie?”

“No,” Regina corrects, thinking fast, “I’m not a wishing Genie. I’m a reading Genie.”

“Ohhh,” he says, looking disappointed for a second, before smiling at her again. “That’s okay,” his grin widens, “I woulda just wished for someone to read to me anyway, so I already got my wish.”

She can’t stop the tears this time - it’s too much, her heart is too battered and broken to be able to hear him say such sweet, innocent things to her, so she bids him goodnight, and silently leaps down from the fire escape. Regina slips into the alley across the street to watch the apartment for the rest of the night, hating that she couldn’t stop herself from interfering with Roland’s thieving, that she was too weak to stay away from the little boy she loves so much.

What is it about children that always draws her in so close? It’s as if her filthy soul feeds on their light, their goodness - she cannot stay away for long, she always caves - always wants, needs, aches to see her boys. It’s why she had to leave Storybrooke - she had done too much damage to Henry’s heart, and he deserved to be free of her. Regina’s corruption had soaked into him, she had bathed him in it for fifteen years and hadn’t realized what she was doing. She had smothered him with what she thought was love, but what Henry knew to be evil, to the point that his anger, his frustration finally erupted in a show of heroic defiance, and when she finally realized what she’d done, she couldn’t cause him any more suffering by staying. She is a monster, a beast with a black heart - if she had her way she’d be muzzled and shackled, locked in a dungeon, never to see the light of day again - but she could not convince Snow to do it.

When she presses the searing numbers against her forearm in penance the next morning - 5/20/2016 - it’s certainly not the first brand she scars herself with, but she both appreciates and hates it more than the others, because it reminds her of her inability to resist staying away, even when she knows the effect her vile nature has on the innocent. She knows that she will need to be punished again and again for this transgression, to ensure that she doesn’t do to Roland what she has done to Henry, to ensure that Roland never feels hatred in his heart the way Henry does, because hatred is not something a hero should ever have a place for.

* * *

** New York - August 13th, 2016 **

_“One… two… three!” They say in unison, holding tightly to Roland’s hands, tugging him up off of the pavement and swinging him forward as they walk down the sidewalk toward Granny’s. Robin laughs and looks over at Regina - so beautiful in the evening light, her shiny black hair pulled up in a french twist, her smile full and bright as she grins back, the magenta of her sleeveless blouse against her tight white pants and those stiletto high heels making her look as regal as a queen, even though this is just a casual evening._

_“Again!” Roland demands, tugging on their hands and pulling his attention from her. They swing him again, and once more, before Robin convinces him to run a few steps ahead to turn over small rocks to hunt for bugs._

_“That’s disgusting, Robin, we’re on our way to dinner,” Regina chides, wrinkling her nose, but the smile hasn’t left her eyes, and he knows she’s not totally serious._

_“Well, if he finds some tasty ones, perhaps we won’t have to feed him,” he teases, and Regina huffs out a laugh next to him. _

_As Roland pauses to start turning over a group of a dozen or so rocks, Robin slips his arm around Regina’s waist and tugs her close. “You know,” he puts his lips to her ear, “He’s not the only one who’s interested in having something to eat tonight.”_

_Her hand comes up to stroke sensually along the side of his neck, and Robin kisses her cheek, rubs his nose against hers, then captures her lips for a long, slow kiss. Her breath hits his chin in a heavy, controlled exhale when he finally pulls back, and her fingers dance across his chest lightly as she baits, “Mmm, are you sure you want to go to Granny’s for dinner? I’m sure I can come up with something at home that **wets** your appetite.” _

_Robin lets out a little needy groan at her blatant use of the wrong verb and kisses her again, this time much more heatedly, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and tipping her head back so he can slide his tongue deep into her mouth. “Let’s go back,” he rasps, pulling back to kiss the side of her neck. Regina’s expensive perfume and shampoo make him long to get her undressed, he can’t even describe what she smells like, the only word that comes to mind is ‘heavenly’. _

_“We’re, mmm, supposed to meet with Snow and David,” she reminds him, but her hands are stroking over his shoulders and down his biceps. “And Roland needs a proper dinner, even if you don’t, my dear.”_

_“Oh, my dinner is quite proper,” he argues, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side a bit to nip the top of her shoulder. “She’s the most proper, most eloquent woman I’ve ever met,” he kisses her throat, her chin, her lips. “And if she lets me take her home right now,” he runs his hands over her hips suggestively, circling around to graze the top of her arse, then quickly back to safer territory, “I’ll make sure I have a ‘proper’ meal at least three,” he kisses her, “Quite possibly four times tonight.”_

_“Get a room!” someone across the street heckles, and they immediately step apart. Things start to get blurry, and Robin fights it, knows that he can’t stop it but he tries anyway, tries to keep the scene before him clear and bright, but the last thing he sees is Regina crouching down and pulling out a wet wipe to clean Roland’s dirty fingers, before she takes his little hand in hers and starts to walk back in the direction they came. _

…………………….

Robin startles awake, frustration flooding his nerves as he yanks the sheets off his body and sits up in bed. He’s sweating, breathing hard and just a smidge panicked, the dream _so real_ that it felt like he was living a memory, like he was actually walking down that street with Regina and his son in a small town he’s certain he’s never visited, but somehow seemed so familiar.

_Christ_.

It’s the sixth dream like that in as many nights, and he desperately wants to understand what it means. They’re getting longer each time, too. What started off as flashes of a moment - he and Regina kissing by a campfire in the cold spring air; her sitting on a kitchen island, his hands on her thighs, sliding up bright red garters; him finding her asleep at a large desk, then picking her up and carrying her to bed - turned into longer clips - Regina tucking Roland in at night, reading him his favorite storybook and trailing her fingers through his hair, the two of them laughing and giggling at the story as Robin steals glances from the hallway; Robin at a large antique table with a teenage boy he doesn’t recognize, school books spread open as Robin teaches him how to tell the different types of trees based on their leaves, looking up to see Regina watching them with love in her eyes as she prepares dinner. It’s such a strange thing - the dreams are so bloody _real_ that he can remember the feel of her skin against his, he can remember the smell her lipstick when he kissed her, he can recall the taste the food she made when she held a spoonful to his lips for him to try.

Robin has never in his life had dreams like this, and he’s starting to flip out a bit, starting to think he really does need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Li, because there is absolutely no reason he should be _this_ obsessed with a woman he met twice and kissed once.

A woman who, after kissing him that one time, sprinted out of his apartment like she was on fire.

So… that’s probably not a good sign that he’ll ever see her again.

He rolls out of bed and trudges down the hall toward the kitchen, parched from his restless night. He checks on Roland and finds him sleeping peacefully, then continues on, heading straight for the fridge for a bottle of spring water - he’s never been able to get used to the chlorinated taste of city water - chugging half the bottle before he realizes he forgot to take that bag of rubbish out that he set by the door. He glances at the clock on the range and sees it’s just after three in the morning, but he doesn’t want to let the garbage sit out, so he grabs his keys and the bag, slips out quietly and locks the door behind him, then runs it down the hall to the room with the trash chute. He chucks the bag and starts jogging back, hating to have left Roland for even a second, knowing that rationally it’s fine, his boy is safe and sound, but he stops dead in his tracks halfway back when a figure dressed in all black slinks up to his apartment door from the side corridor.

Robin is frozen for a moment, watching closely as the person stands in front of his door for a few seconds, then reaches into their jacket for something.

“Hey!” Robin calls, breaking into a run. “I dunno who you are mate, but you’ve got the wrong place, and you’d better sod off before -”

He closes the distance so quickly that the other person barely has time to react - they backpedal quickly and put their hands up in surrender as he comes barreling toward them, ready for anything -

“It’s me,” she calls, her voice low but distinctive.

He’s legitimately shocked. “Regina?” he asks dumbly. “What in god’s name are you doing?”

She holds out a small bundle as he walks the last few paces to stand outside of his door. Robin takes it from her, confused as ever, but doesn’t even bother to look at what it is. Instead, he asks, “Is everything alright?”

Regina barks out a strange sound that grates on his nerves. It’s not a laugh, not at all, it’s a sound of derision mixed with hysteria, and he positively _hates _it. He never wants to hear it fall from her lips again.

“Please tell me what I’ve done,” Robin lowers his voice and ducks his head to try to see her eyes. She has her hood pulled up and her face is mostly shadowed, making it hard to see her expression. “Regina, if I’ve offended you, or caused you harm in some way, please accept my sincere, my deepest apologies. I truly, never intended to cause you such…” he flounders for a moment, searching for the best word, shaking his head a bit, then settles on, “Agony.”

“No, it’s not you,” she says quickly, stepping forward to run her hands over his shoulders. “You are so good. Never think that it’s you, _never_. It’s me, I’m -”

“The old, it’s not you, it’s me, is it?” he interrupts. He doesn’t actually mean to say that, definitely doesn’t mean for it to come out so childishly, but it is three in the morning, he hasn’t had a decent night’s rest in almost a week, and he just doesn’t _get it_. But now he feels bad for acting like a prat, so he amends, “I’m sorry - I respect your decision not to tell me,” then he steps back from her. “I just wish I understood what I’ve done to incur such mistrust, or if you’re simply not interested, I wish that you’d just tell me as much.”

Her dark chocolate-colored eyes fill with tears and she looks up to stop them from falling, biting her bottom lip, her hands clenching by her sides as he studies her. _Christ_, he’s never met such a tightly wound person in his entire life. He despises that he just contributed to whatever is causing such stress.

Robin takes a moment to look at the package she handed him, finally seeing that it’s his freshly laundered socks and sweatpants folded neatly, a little piece of yarn holding it all together. “I never wanted to complicate things for you, Regina, and it’s obvious I have. I just, that night in the alley I thought you were so brave, and then I met you again and it, I don’t know, it seemed like fate. Then we had this lovely dinner and when I kissed you it felt - to me, it felt brilliant - but then you left and I felt awful…” He pauses, gathers his courage and continues, “Our… interaction is obviously causing some kind of harm to you, and I can’t stand the thought that I’m contributing to that.”

“Please don’t blame yourself, you’re not like I am, you haven’t done anything wrong, this is my fault,” she argues. “Robin, you are so good inside,” she puts her hand on his chest, right over his heart –

_“Stop saying that,” Regina argues, I’m not good like you are, I might have my heart back but it’s still black, Robin, it’ll never be like yours.” Regina’s eyes are red-rimmed and full of anguish as she stares at him across the kitchen island, her hands on her hips. _

_“I don’t care if it’s like mine!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t want it to be like mine - I want it to be just as it is. I don’t want you to change a single thing, because you’re perfect, just as you are.”_

_“Stop!” she yells, temper rising, “Stop saying that!”_

_“No, I will not stop!” Robin loses his own temper, puffing up with indignation. He will not stand for anyone tearing her down, not even herself. “You are the most incredible, brave, brilliant woman I have ever met in my life. Your heart may very well be mostly black, but the red you have contains more goodness in it than the combined hearts of every single person in this bloody town, and if anyone disagrees with that, you can point me in their direction, and I’ll be happy to have more than a conversation with them.”_

_They stare daggers at each other for several seconds, tempers flared, emotions right at the surface, then suddenly she breaks with a harshly whispered, “Oh, Robin,” and he rushes toward her. Robin sweeps her up in his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest, kissing her temple, the side of her head, her cheek - stroking his hand over her hair, telling her how wonderful she is - just as she is, while she apologizes for losing her temper, and they soothe each other in the wake of their disagreement._

………………….

Robin stumbles backward, dropping the package he was holding, his eyes going wide as he stares at the woman in front of him, the one dressed in a black jacket and hood, not a red dress and diamond earrings like in his…. what?

His vision?

_Christ_.

He really is going insane.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her hand still outstretched toward him, concern written across her features. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

No, Robin is not alright. He’s not alright by a long shot. What the bloody hell _was _that?!

“I…” He starts then snaps his mouth shut, unwilling to tell her about his strange dreams, visions, whatever. She’s already wary of him, she’ll think he’s a complete nutter if he tells her about it. “I’m just tired,” he tries to play it off, bends down and picks up his clothes from the floor.

She drops her hand to her side and gives him a suspicious look, but thankfully doesn’t press him on it.

“I’m sorry,” Regina apologizes, “I didn’t think you’d be awake - it’s so late I was certain you’d be sleeping, I intended to drop off your things without waking you.”

“So that’s really it for me then?” he asks, disappointment lacing his words. “I can’t believe I’ve cocked this up so fast.” She starts to protest again but Robin just shakes his head as he rubs his hand over his forehead. “Do me a favor yeah?” he asks, and Regina nods. “If you ever change your mind - either about telling me how I did it, or about giving me another shot, be sure to come and look me up again.” Her eyes fill with tears and it only confuses him more as to why she’s so determined to put an end to this, so he adds boldly, “I’d wait my entire life for a second chance with you, darling.”

Regina nods quickly, tears falling down her cheeks as Robin leans in and swipes them away, then presses a quick kiss to her cheek. He re-enters his apartment, checks on Roland, and heads to bed, so upset with the way things turned out. He just wishes he understood what the hell was happening. Everything is so strange when it comes to Regina, he can’t figure her out to save his life.

Robin unbundles the clothes she gave him and throws his socks in his dresser, then drapes the sweatpants and grey zip up hoodie she returned to him over the recliner by his window. He flops down into bed and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, still trying to dissect what happened, how he could have gotten things so wrong, then suddenly, he sits straight up.

Where the _fuck_ did Regina get his hoodie?!

Where did she get the hoodie he’s been missing for weeks - the one he left on the couch on Roland’s birthday, only to find it missing in the morning? The same morning the monkey plushie appeared - the monkey who both Roland, and Roland’s teacher swear isn’t stolen, the monkey Roland says is from his ‘genie’. Robin shakes his head. He’s enrolled his son in therapy to seek help for dealing with an imaginary friend - a friend who, _oh god_, Robin suddenly isn’t so sure actually _is_ imaginary.

He’s been feeling watched for weeks, been feeling followed; swears he has heard footsteps and seen someone lurking in the alley across the street on more than one occasion. He’s run into Regina three times now by pure accident, in three entirely different locations, but all were well within walking distance to his apartment. And he knows absolutely nothing about her except what? She has an affinity for wearing black, she doesn’t have anyone to look after her, and she works in, what did she say… _surveillance_?

_Bloody hell_.

Robin’s heart hammers wildly in his chest. He dashes out of his bedroom and slips up to the living room window, then carefully, carefully peeks out into the street - but he sees nothing. It doesn’t convince him that something strange isn’t going on though, and he’s certain now that there is more to Regina Mills than meets the eye.

He checks all the locks in the apartment again, then picks Roland up and puts him in bed with him, too freaked out to let his son sleep alone tonight. Tomorrow, Robin is going to find out exactly who Regina is, what she’s up to, and why being around him makes her so upset.


	6. Chapter Five

** _ New York - May 28th, 2016 _ **

“Papa?” Roland climbs up into his lap on Saturday afternoon, just after lunch.

Robin sets down his iced tea and brushes his son’s hair out of his eyes, making a mental note to get his son a haircut. “Yes, my boy, what can I do for you?” he gives him a squeeze.

“Can we move my bed?”

“Uh, well, that depends,” Robin frowns. “Where were you thinking of moving it?” He’s hoping Roland doesn’t mean he wants to share a room with Robin. Roland’s been understandably needy since the divorce, and Robin hasn’t been great at telling him no. He’s not sure how to justify limiting time with the one parent his son has left, it just doesn’t seem very fair to do such a thing, but he knows he can’t keep letting him fall asleep in bed with him every night either.

Roland wiggles excitedly on his lap and says, “By the window.”

“Oh!” Robin can’t quite hide his surprise. Well, that’s fine, better than fine, actually. “Sure,” he shrugs, and Roland gives him an excited little _Yeah!_ before he shoves himself off of his lap and runs down the hall for his room.

It only takes a minute to slide Roland’s child-sized furniture around in order to get his bed positioned in front of his window, and Robin is so relieved that this was the request, that it doesn’t even occur to him to ask _why_ the window, until he’s already got the job done.

“So,” he flops down on Roland’s little bed, and his son jumps in on top of him. “What’s with the change? I hate to break it to you son, but the view isn’t very good,” he teases.

Roland shifts around until he’s comfortably snuggled up against Robin, then starts picking at the graphic on his Danger Mouse t-shirt. It’s a nervous habit, and Robin notices it right away, so he turns and asks him, “What’s going on? You know you can tell your old dad anything, yeah?”

Roland nods but doesn’t look up from his picking, so Robin kisses the top of his head and waits him out.

After another minute of silence, Robin tries, “Is this about Mum?” but Roland shakes his head no. “Something I’ve done?” Roland shakes his head again. His son is anything but quiet, and Robin knows he’ll come around if he can get him started, if he can help him get his thoughts together, so he tries, “Perhaps it’s about one of your mates?”

Roland stops picking and looks up at him. “Yeah,” he says, “I - I made a new friend.”

“Is that right?” Robin says with excitement, “Well that’s great! That’s wonderful, Roland!”

“It is?” Roland asks. Robin feels confused and a bit sad that his son might think otherwise.

“Of course it is,” Robin reassures. “You deserve all the friends in the world,” he squeezes him tightly.

“This one’s different,” Roland tells him conspiratorially, getting close. “This one’s special, Papa,” he says, pure excitement shining in his eyes, “She’s a _genie_.”

“She’s a…” Robin trails off, quite unsure what to say. “A what?”

“A genie,” Roland repeats, jumping up to grab a book from a big pile in the corner of his room. “Just like in my storybook,” he hands him the copy of Aladdin. “Well, not _just like_ that, she’s not a wishing genie, she’s a reading genie.”

Robin is dumbfounded.

“A reading genie?” he repeats.

“Yeah, isn’t that cool?” Roland asks. “She reads storybooks to me, just like you do, only better,” he says, then has the good nature to realize he’s offended his father and says, “Oops.”

“And this genie,” Robin probes, “How did you meet her?”

“She comes when I’m sleeping,” he says, “And she reads storybooks to me ‘cause we’re on a quest, and I’m her knight, and I always beat all the bad guys ‘cause I’m a hero,” Roland tells him, matter of factly.

Robin breathes a sigh of relief. It’s obviously just some sort of dream Roland’s been having, some play-pretend that he’s put together since Robin’s been working so much lately and hasn’t been able to tuck him a few nights a week. He’ll talk to the babysitter about making sure his son doesn’t have any sugar at least an hour before bed - hopefully that’ll help.

“Well that’s lovely,” Robin tells him. “And you most definitely are a hero,” he agrees. “But why the window?”

“That’s where genie sits,” Roland explains, “I’ll hear the stories better now,” he smiles contentedly and gets up, then wanders out of his bedroom throwing a, “Thanks, Papa!” over his shoulder as he goes.

Robin lays in his son’s bed for a moment, thinking hard about what Roland just told him. Then he gets up, opens Roland’s bedroom window and climbs out onto the fire escape. There is no sign of any recent use, no scratches, scrapes or marks of any kind. He looks the entire thing over thoroughly, then examines the outside of Roland’s window for fingerprints or any sign of tampering, but it’s free from anything suspicious as well. Robin looks down at the street and there is clearly no way anyone could reach the second story fire escape from there. They’d have to be a bloody superhuman - it’s much too high for anyone to make the jump, and there are no nearby objects climb on. Satisfied that his son’s ‘genie’ is nothing but a figment of his imagination, Robin slips back through the window and re-locks it. At least Roland has stopped stealing, and if this _genie_ had something to do with it, he supposes he’s grateful.

* * *

** _ New York - August 16th, 2016 _ **

Regina has been extra cautious since she gave Robin back his clothes. She knows the return of his hoodie will have drawn suspicion, that he’ll easily put two and two together and figure out she’s up to something. She hasn’t been careful enough, she’s been so weak - has given away too much information in what little face to face interaction she has had with him, and Robin is so clever, there is no way he’ll miss such an obvious giveaway. But she couldn’t bear to keep his things - it’s so wrong of her to hoard his property, and after she allowed herself to kiss him, she knew she had finally lost control, and she had to put a stop to it.

The brands on her arm throb terribly today. It’s been over a week since their kiss but in her panic that night, she had held the metal numbers - 8/6/2016 - to her skin for far too long, and they had burned too deeply. What should have been the usual second degree burn had almost turned into a third degree before she came to her senses, and she had placed the new brand too close to the previous one - 8/4/2016. The punishments were too much for her forearm to accept in such a short amount of time, and she’s been fighting an infection, instead of just the usual scarring since then. But the infection didn’t stop her from branding yesterday’s date too - the ache in her heart hurts more than her skin ever could, but she needs the visual reminder of what she has done, needs to keep track of this date in particular, to make sure she is forever reminded of what she is.

_Evil_.

That’s what Henry had said, what he had called her. He had looked her right in the eyes as she begged him one last time for his forgiveness, and he’d told her he couldn’t forgive her if she wouldn’t be honest, that he was through _listening to the lies of the Evil Queen. _That was the very last thing he had said to her before she left Storybrooke for good.

He turned sixteen years old yesterday, and the 8/15/2016 on her arm is a painful reminder of the fact that she was not with him for it, though she is certain there will be many, many more to come without him.

Regina doesn’t try to block out the agonizing, pulsing of the burns on her arm. Instead, she focuses on it as she slouches in the shadows of the alley and watches over the Locksley’s apartment. The pain is good - it’s welcomed, even. It reminds her of why she is not allowed to be in that apartment, it reminds her of what happens when she tries to love people - it reminds her that she isn’t capable of loving them, she is only capable of _ruining them_.

It’s late tonight when she sees Robin shut off the television and head to bed. Usually, he turns in some time between eleven and midnight, but it’s almost one in the morning now, and she hopes it’s not because she’s spooked him. She hopes he’s just more relaxed, needing fewer hours because he’s sleeping better, less stressed from work now that his big project at the children’s hospital is complete, and he won’t be working so many extra evenings.

It’s another hour before she hears the sound of quiet footsteps approaching from the other end of the alley. She’s immediately annoyed by it - she had a tussle with a junkie the night before and she doesn’t want to do it again. It’s distracting, and addicts are unpredictable - she can’t just hand over her wallet or her body and let them have their way with her. They aren’t in their right mind and the few times she has encountered them she has always had to resort to physical violence to knock them out or run them off.

She turns her head slightly and looks down the alley, using her peripherals to try to pick up movement in the dark, but surprisingly, she sees nothing. Regina shifts her body a little more, leaning her back, instead of just her shoulder, against the wall behind her, trying to keep the motion casual and slow so she can get a better look. She can’t hear the footsteps any longer but she definitely feels as if she’s being watched, and it’s an ironic feeling - to be watching over someone and feel watched at the same time. Her old self would have thoroughly enjoyed this game of turned tables, but Regina just wants it to be over with so she can go back to her duty. Her arm throbs and she sighs.

There is a flash of motion, the sound of rubber slapping against pavement as whoever it is rushes her, but she doesn’t even flinch. She holds perfectly still and waits for them to do their worst - waits for the mugging, or the beating, or whatever else to happen - the sooner it starts the sooner she can get back to what she was doing.

The body slams into hers roughly, one arm pressing hard across her collarbones, expecting her to fight, but she doesn’t. She closes her eyes and waits, takes a deep, steadying breath in through her nose, and accepts her punishment.

Her eyes snap open when she smells him, the scent of forest enveloping her as he pins her to the wall, his blue eyes blazing in the dark as he practically growls, “_Fuck_. It _is _you. It has been all along, hasn’t it?”

Panic rushes through her - she hadn’t expected him to come for her, had not anticipated him to make such a frontal assault, and now she’s been caught red-handed and can’t come up with a way to deny it. So she doesn’t. Her voice is rough as she tells him simply, “Yes.”

He doesn’t relax his grip on her at all as he follows up with, “Why? What is it you’re after? What do you want?”

“Nothing,” she says, “I’m only here to watch, I mean no harm.” It’s not a lie, those are indeed her intentions.

“To watch?” he snaps, giving her shoulders a little shove, “Why? Why’re you watching us? Who sent you? The school? My ex-wife? Is this some ploy to take custody?”

He’s just given her a perfect excuse for doing what she’s been doing, and she hates that she’s about to use it against him. God, she hates herself. Hates herself _so much_.

“Yes,” she lies. No one has seen hide nor hair of Marian for months. She knows Robin hasn’t heard from her at all - he doesn’t even have her current contact information. It’s too perfect. “Marian sent me.”

Robin lets up the pressure on her sternum a little, and a look of anguish comes over his face. “_Christ_,” he shakes his head. “What’s she want? She’s changed her mind on custody, has she? Wants to find some dirt on me so she can make a challenge?”

Regina nods.

“And have you?” he asks, staring her hard in the eyes. The fear in Robin rolls off of him in waves. Regina can feel it crawling over her skin, mixing with the thick layer of corruption that is already there.

“No,” she breathes, “I haven’t found anything. You’re perfect,” she says honestly. She realizes suddenly that her hands are on his ribs, clutching him tightly through his black, long sleeved henley shirt. When did that happen? How has she allowed that to happen? She shouldn’t be touching him.

Robin looks relieved, but still _very_ suspicious of her. “And Roland?” he asks, “Have you been talking to my son at night? Trying to get information out of him?”

“Not information,” she argues, “I would never use him like that, I would never use him against you.”

“But you _have _been speaking with him?” Robin presses, looking appalled.

She has no excuse for her behavior. “Yes.”

“_Bloody hell,_” he gives her a little shove into the wall. “Why? And, and _how?_”

“He was acting out,” she explains, “I… wanted to help him. Your sitter always puts him to bed early and doesn’t read to him, and he was lonely when you were working nights. He had started stealing and I made him a deal that if he stopped, I’d come back and read to him on those nights you weren’t able to.”

She can see the guilt flood his eyes at her confession, and she feels the same guilt wash through her. She never meant to cause Robin to feel bad about this - she was trying to alleviate his guilt by helping Roland to cope with the absence of his mother. But once again, Regina has failed to remember that her best intentions are tainted, and so of course they have had the opposite effect that she wanted - she has caused nothing but pain to those she was trying to help.

“How the hell did you get up the fire escape?” he snaps, his anger palpable.

“I’m a good climber.”

“I’d say so,” he huffs. “You gave Roland the monkey?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

She nods.

“And you stole my hoodie?” His eyebrows are raised in disbelief, and she has no idea how to explain _that._

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, because she really, truly is. She’s incredibly sorry - she wishes she had been more careful, had punished herself harder, had been able to be strong enough to stay away like she was supposed to. Henry would be so disappointed in her.

Robin shoves himself away from her and backs up against the opposite wall of the alley, roughly scrubbing his hands over his face. Her fingers slide from his ribs as he goes, her arm throbs with pain and it grounds her, pulls her back into herself and reminds her that she needs to come up with a new plan. She’s lost her ability to watch over them now - Robin will never allow it - what little purpose she had is now gone because she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t keep her distance._ Oh god._ What is she going to do now? The ache in her chest that accompanies this realization is so acute that she’s suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Panic.

That’s what this is.

It settles in her lungs, tightening, tightening, _tightening _until there’s no air left at all. She feels a burning sensation in her cheeks, her hands tingle, her vision blurs and the ache in her chest intensifies until it’s sharp like a knife. She tries to breathe, gasps for air harder and harder, but no matter how much she tries she can’t seem to get enough.

Large, warm hands cup her face then, and Robin pulls her head up to look in her eyes. “You’re having a panic attack,” he tells her, matter of factly. Then he puts his hand over her mouth and holds her nose and says, “Count to ten with me.”

She struggles against him, needing air, needing to breathe - but he holds her steady, counting out loud, “1, 2, trust me, 4, 5 -” until she stops squirming, because she does trust him, even though her lungs are on fire and everything hurts and all she can see are his eyes.

When he gets to ten he keeps his hand on her mouth but lets go of her nose, and she sucks in a deep breath through it as he tells her, “Breathe with your belly, nice and slow - I know you _want _to breathe fast but you _need _to breathe slow.”

She tries to breathe slowly but it’s so difficult, her hands are still tingling and her chest hurts so much, the need to take quick breaths and fill her lungs is almost unbearable. It’s like she’s drowning on dry land.

Robin plugs one side of her nose and says, “Breathe just through this side for a moment.” Then he adds, “Focus on my shirt - look at the buttons, how many are there? What color are they? What shape is the neckline? What type of fabric is the shirt? Is it black or grey?”

She stares at his shirt and sucks in air through her right nostril, doing as he says, trying to focus when her vision is trying to tunnel, trying to fail her.

Four buttons - light colored, grey or white - the top one is unbuttoned.

The neckline is round, almost a little too tight on him, his neck is thick and muscular.

Robin switches to holding the other side of her nose, and she remembers from a few minutes earlier that his shirt felt soft. She brings her tingly hands up and touches it, puts her palms on his ribs and feels it for herself. It’s jersey knit, ringspun cotton and super soft under her fingertips, with exposed coverstitching on the collar, sleeves and hem. And it’s dark grey, not black - which she should have known. Robin doesn’t own a single article of black clothing, except for those Calvin Klein boxer briefs she bought for him in Storybrooke, because once Ruby had teasingly mentioned the idea of Robin Hood in designer underwear, she couldn’t get the image out of her head and had to see the real thing in person.

Robin pulls his hands from her nose and mouth and wipes them on his pants, then to her complete surprise, he cups her face again.

“Better?” he asks.

She _is _better. She’s not hyperventilating anymore, the pain and tingling have mostly stopped, the panic attack has subsided for now.

Regina nods.

“Alright then,” he nods as well, but he doesn’t let her go. “What’re we going to do about this?” he asks, as if she has an answer. Again, she feels guilty. Robin has no way of knowing that things are even more convoluted than he realizes.

“I’ll leave,” she offers, hating the part of her that prays he won’t make her. She doesn’t deserve to hope that he won’t - it’s what she _must _do. “I’ll leave, but please, let me say goodbye to Roland, so he doesn’t think I abandoned him?” She starts crying and she can’t stop - _god _\- she wishes she could stop, knows from their history that Robin is weak for her tears and she’s not trying to pull his heartstrings, but she can’t help it. The thought of saying goodbye to him, and especially to Roland _again _is absolute torture.

Robin stares at her for several seconds, then his thumb strokes softly across her cheek and he says, “You’re going to think I’m a looney for saying this…” he pauses and she can see the nervousness etched in his crinkled brow. “But I don’t want you to go.”

She starts to protest but he talks over her, much to her chagrin.

“Regina I don’t know what it is, and I know that I probably shouldn’t be so interested in someone I just met, especially someone who’s been lurking about, following me all over town, stealing my hoodies and speaking to my son without my permission…” he pauses and shakes his head, laughing a little at the absurdity of what he’s just said. “But I feel like we have this connection I haven’t felt with anyone before. You were mostly just doing your job, and your heart certainly seems like it’s in the right place - and, well, I believe you when you say you haven’t meant to cause us any harm. You’ve had ample opportunity to do it, and you haven’t, so that has to count for something.” He pauses and brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes, pushing it further into her hood. “If I’m being totally honest, right or wrong I’ve also got quite a crush on you - and that hasn’t happened to me in quite a long time. So, if you’d be amenable to quit working for my ex, I’d like the opportunity to know you better before I pass judgment. I suppose what I’m saying is, I _really _don’t want you to go away.”

“You don’t?” Regina is completely shocked.

Robin smiles and shrugs. “No, I don’t. I’d actually like to take you out properly, if you’d let me.”

“I…” she has no idea what to say. She’s supposed to be punished for this, she should be thinking up ways to pay penance for stepping over the boundary between good and evil yet again. “You want to _date _me?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” he tells her, and _that_ is what does her in.

She can’t come up with a good reason to say no to him when he tells her this. She’s sworn to watch over him, to do everything in her power to make him happy, to do her best to ensure it. And he’s just told her, flat out, that dating her will make him happy. He has destroyed her best argument with five words.

_Shit_.

So she’ll go on a few dates with him and let him figure out for himself that she’s not a desirable partner for the long haul. That there is something vile lurking beneath the surface that he wants nothing to do with. Everyone figures it out eventually - she has no doubt that clever, sweet, pure-hearted Robin will too, and when he does, he’ll take his son and try to get as far away from her as possible.

Regina convinces herself that she can handle this, then quickly formulates a new plan as she stares at Robin in the dark alley. She can put herself on her guard and make him happy by fulfilling his request to date her, and she can wait him out - she can be patient until he realizes there is something dirty, something filthy, something wrong about her. She won’t try to hide it, she’ll let her true nature sit right there in front of him, let the evil simmer at the surface so he can see it, feel it, taste it. His heart is too pure to allow her corruption to stay near him for long, and when he finally decides to cut the ties between them, she will go without a fight, no matter how much it hurts her. This way he gets what he wants - he gets the chance with her he craves so badly right now, and when the time comes, he’ll get to end it with her on his terms, which she is certain will be a ‘no hard feelings’ apology befitting his sweet soul.

Their ending will be her punishment, because this time he’ll have left her without an excuse - he’ll have left her because of who and what she is, and she’s certain that the broken heart she will leave with will never heal, will hurt forever, will very nearly kill her. And that’s what she deserves in the end - a shattered, unmendable, blackened heart - a punishment fit for an Evil Queen, indeed.

Her decision made, Regina nods, and when Robin’s eyes light up with hopeful excitement, she can do nothing more than pray she’s made the right choice.


	7. Chapter Six

** _ New York - August 19th, 2016 _ **

Robin hasn’t been on a first date in over seventeen years, and the level of nervousness he’s experiencing as he stands outside of the restaurant and waits for Regina to arrive is proof of it.

He’s fifteen minutes early, because he got ready _thirty _minutes early, and then he couldn’t stand to wait in his apartment for another second, too amped up with the thought that he might somehow be delayed on the short walk over, and she’d think he stood her up. Which of course, he would never dream of doing, but he didn’t want to risk it. So, now he’s stuck standing here, waiting forever like a right idiot, his palms sweating, heart pounding, desperately trying to come up with things to talk about on their date, because his tongue already feels too big for his mouth and she hasn’t even made an appearance yet.

Robin doesn’t know what it is about Regina that draws his interest so much, and he knows he should probably be angry with her for the things she did, but he just can’t seem to find it in him. There’s something inside of him, in his gut, or perhaps if he’s feeling sentimental, in his heart, that tells him she didn’t mean them any harm, and that she’s worth all of this.

He checks his phone and it’s only five minutes now until they planned to meet. He tugs nervously on the collar of his dark green button up shirt and wipes his palms on his jeans. She said she wanted to go someplace casual for dinner, someplace easy. So they’re going for tapas at this little restaurant he found tucked away just a short walk from his apartment, and he’s hoping he can convince her to grab gelato or a coffee afterwards, since both places are nearby. He honestly has no idea if this is what people do on first dates anymore, but he doesn’t know much about Regina, and he’s not sure what else she might like to do, so he hopes it’ll be alright. He’s admittedly playing it safe because he desperately wants this to go well. He wants to show her that his intentions are honest, that he really does want to get to know her, that this is all worth the second chance they’re giving each other.

When she arrives, he doesn’t recognize her at first, and he feels like a complete tosser about it. He _notices_ her immediately, because she’s bloody-fucking-gorgeous - she stands out like a goddess in the crowd (he’s not the only one staring) - but he doesn’t _recognize _her, and it’s almost comical when he does. Because he doesn’t realize it’s her, he doesn’t put two and two together until she makes eye contact with him, and flashes him this coy little smile. Then suddenly he knows that she is _his_ date, and _christ_, if he thought he was nervous before, he’s very nearly ready to faint now.

He’s only ever seen Regina dressed in all black before, usually with her hood pulled up, no makeup, and that skittish look plastered across her face like she’s ready to bolt at any moment. She’s undoubtedly beautiful like that, but tonight, _god_, this Regina - the one he’s convinced to go on a date with him - she looks like she could eat him alive. Her onyx colored hair is straight and shiny, parted to the side and falling in her eyes a bit, her makeup is dark and smokey, eyes expertly lined, lipstick a bright red that matches the exact color of the dress she’s wearing. Her long sleeved dress is form fitting and short, the hem stopping at mid-thigh to show off her gorgeously toned, tan legs, with a wide, deep vee cut neckline that accentuates her collarbones and ample cleavage, and the fabric shifts and moves smoothly with her as she saunters toward him in what he can only describe as four-inch ‘fuck-me heels’.

“Hey, handsome,” she says casually, as if she didn’t just redefine the definition of stunning for every other woman on Earth.

Robin clears his throat and does his best to peel his eyes off of her legs, then replies with, “Wow… hi.”

She smirks at his idiotic reply, which causes him to openly cringe. _Try again Locksley._ He rubs his palms on his jeans nervously and says, “You look incredible, I mean, you just, uh, you’re looking fit tonight.”

“Thank you,” she says, and he thinks he sees pity in her eyes, which makes him feel even more stupid. What in the bloody _hell_ was he thinking, asking her out? It’s almost laughable. “You look great too, though next time we might have to discuss color choices, so we don’t wind up looking like we’re celebrating Christmas in August.”

Robin looks down at himself and cringes again. _Oh god_, she’s right. He’s wearing forest green and she’s in bright red. They look like they’re headed to the office holiday party. _Shit_.

“My apologies,” he offers, then for absolutely no reason he adds, “I’m sorry I’m not better dressed for tonight, I uh, I assumed when you said casual that jeans would be alright. I definitely should have dialed it up a notch though, so I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m afraid I’m not very practiced at dating anymore, it’s been a long time since I’ve been out with someone new.”

“Oh?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

Robin could die with humiliation. What is wrong with him? He just keeps offering up all the worst things to tell her on a silver platter.

“Er, yeah, not since my ex-wife and I got together so, I suppose it’s been… a touch over seventeen years,” he glances around nervously, praying for something to distract them - a street performer, a purse snatcher, _anything_ to change the subject.

“Well, I think you’re dressed perfectly,” Regina tells him, stepping closer and reaching out to run her fingers over his collar. He catches the scent of her perfume, or her shampoo, or _something_, and she smells amazing - like apples and incense and deliciousness. “I’m the one who’s overdressed. I haven’t been out with anyone new in a very long time either and I went overboard with it.”

She’s only a couple of inches shorter than him with those heels on and when she blushes with her admission and bites her bright red bottom lip, a wave of endearment for her floods through Robin’s veins. Apparently, he’s not the only one who was nervous about tonight. He smiles knowingly and offers her his hand, then leads her into the restaurant.

All in all, it’s a rather nice dinner. She’s open to trying lots of different options on the menu, which he’s infinitely thankful for, because he’s not sure they could have got on if she had turned out to be one of those women whose diet consists strictly of kale and seltzer water. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be, based on their impromptu duck dinner a couple of weeks ago, but now he’s certain that should this somehow get further than tonight, at the very least they can share a few more good meals together. He also finds that Regina is more open in conversation than she has been before, and they trade information about their jobs. Robin tells her of his previous work as a conservation officer, which she seems to find fascinating, and he learns that before she went into the private eye business she worked in politics, even made a successful run for mayor in the small town she came from before she moved here.

“So what was it that drew you to New York?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer. “Must’ve been something that brought you out here, yeah? Perhaps a special affinity for lurking about in dark alleyways? We do have more than our fair share.”

Regina frowns and looks down at her empty plate. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she formulates her response, and Robin immediately regrets his question. He was only teasing, but it appears he’s struck a nerve and he wishes he could take back the question.

“I don’t particularly enjoy alleys more than the next person,” she gives him a look that’s somewhere between amused and scolding, and somehow it feels both new and familiar all at once. “I moved here because there was a… misunderstanding between several members of my family,” she says quietly, carefully, dropping her eyes for a moment to watch the tip of her finger trace around the top of her martini glass. Then she raises her eyes to his and finishes with, “And it became clear that the best thing for everyone was for me to leave.”

What an awful thing for her to have gone through. Robin’s heart breaks for her, and without thinking, he reaches across the table and takes her hand in his.

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand.

“You needn’t be,” she tells him firmly, straightening her back, though she doesn’t pull her hand from his. “I can assure you, it was well deserved.”

He looks her over for a moment, studies the crease of her brow, the way her eyes narrow just a bit, and he can tell she’s hurting from whatever happened, though she’s putting on a brave face. Robin wonders if she actually believes this rubbish she’s just told him about deserving it, and he hopes she doesn’t. No one deserves to be cast out over a misunderstanding, and Regina is entirely too clever to have not tried everything in her power to rectify it, so it must have been a terrible situation, whatever it was.

“Deserved or not, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful,” he gently corrects. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You can change the subject,” she drawls, her tone a bit waspish as she raises one eyebrow at him and pulls her hand from his to take another sip of her drink.

He huffs out a laugh at her snark - she’ll have to try harder than that to put him off, he loves a sassy woman and all she’s done now is interest him more. “What about your parents then?” he asks, “Are you close with them?”

Regina sets her drink down and tells him, “Both have passed. I was close with my father, but he died long ago. My mother passed just this year. She and I were cordial at best and… down right _heart-ripping_ at worst.” She almost smirks as she says this, purses her lips as if to damper a smile, then quickly redirects with, “How about you?”

He’s curious about her relationship with her mother but he doesn’t press her, instead Robin tells her that his parents have also passed away. At her urging, he goes on to explain that his mother died when he was seven, and that his father was a kind man who worked in the forestry service and taught him his love of nature. Their conversation picks up and flows easily from there again, and when dinner is over, Robin is chuffed to bits when Regina agrees to grab a coffee with him at the little shop just down the street.

She orders a coffee, dark roast with soy creamer, and it makes his Chai Tea look a bit feminine in comparison, but he’s not at all put off by it. For some reason, the drink just seems to suit her, and he’s confident enough in his masculinity that he could’ve ordered the frilliest drink on the menu and still felt just fine about it. They take their drinks to go, both wanting to stretch their legs after their meal since it’s a nice night, but Robin only agrees to it after Regina assures him at least twice that her heels don’t hurt to walk in. He has no idea how she’s managing to move so normally in those stilettos - she must be superhuman to pull it off so perfectly - but damn, he can’t help but appreciate her efforts.

They walk along slowly, chatting about the city, the weather, and their plans for the rest of the weekend - whatever comes to mind. Robin finds her so easy to talk to tonight. Regina is polite, attentive, and extremely intelligent; she has a biting wit that makes him laugh constantly, and she’s so clever that he finds her nothing short of absolutely enthralling. She’s beautiful and graceful, she moves perfectly in sync next to him, so much so that when he nervously brushes her hand with his in hopes of holding it, it feels so natural that he immediately just goes for it and threads his fingers through hers. She looks stunned at first, but then she gives him this sweet smile, and his heart feels so full in that moment, so _happy_, that he could hang the moon with the rush of affection he feels for her. Robin is so wrapped up in her, so involved in their conversation, that when he returns to her after throwing out their empty cups in a nearby bin, he suddenly realizes that they’re standing outside of his apartment building, and he hadn’t even noticed that they were moving in this direction.

Disappointment that their evening is drawing to an end overwhelms him, and without thinking he asks, “Would you like to come up for a night cap?”

“I… shouldn’t,” Regina says, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes him want to bite it for her.

He nods, licks his lips and tries to get his mind out of the gutter, but all he can come up with is, “You’re probably right…”

Robin feels awkward for a moment as they stand on the sidewalk and neither of them makes a move to leave. Another idea hits him, this one has a bit more traction so he takes a chance and tries, “You know, I’ve still got your socks and leggings from the orange juice debacle. What about popping up for just a minute to collect those? I feel terrible that I’ve already had them as long as I have, and it would be such a relief to return them to their rightful owner.”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles, clearly seeing through his excuse, and for what must be the millionth time tonight, he goes a bit brainless at how beautiful she is. But then she’s nodding as she says, “Alright, but only for a moment,” and when she takes his hand, his heart flips over so hard in his chest he nearly chokes. He has no idea what he’s going to do once they get upstairs - he’ll be thrilled if she lets him kiss her, _christ_, he just might die from it - but he’s going to do his best not to fuck things up this time.

Roland is staying over at the babysitter’s tonight - Robin wasn’t trying to be presumptuous, but he didn’t want to create an awkward situation by having his son wait for him to come home when he honestly had no idea just what might happen on his date. So his apartment is mercifully dark, empty, and quiet when he turns the lock and lets them in.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll just be a minute,” he tells her as he slides past, taking a moment to turn on the lamps in the living room before he makes his way down the hall to his bedroom. He retrieves her abandoned clothing, which he’s kept folded neatly on his dresser, hoping like hell he’d get the chance to return it to her, and takes a quick second to slip into his ensuite to freshen up.

_God,_ he’s nervous.

Robin brushes his teeth, then feels like a prat for doing it, feels like he’s going to come off as expectant when he was just trying to be thoughtful, so he rinses his mouth several times to try to dilute the mint flavor in hopes that she won’t notice, should they somehow wind up in a position where she might have the opportunity to. He runs the tap and splashes water on his face, then stares in the mirror for another full minute, pep-talking himself into calmness, telling himself that there’s no reason to get his hopes up for a kiss, that tonight has already been incredible, and he’s got to cool the bloody hell down or she’s going to think he’s even more of git than she probably already does. Deep breaths, mate. Deep breaths.

When he finally rejoins her in the living room she’s standing next to the television, looking through the plethora of books on his tall oak bookshelf, her fingers trailing lightly over the hard covers as she tilts her head to read the titles. She’s taken her shoes off to walk across the carpet, and now she’s quite a bit shorter than he is, which somehow just makes her even more attractive. He has the urge to curl up with her on the couch while she reads one of those books, to run his hands through her hair and rub her shoulders while she reclines against his chest, and it’s so domestic, so ridiculously casual, that his heart makes this funny little ache with wanting that he cannot seem to understand. How can he be so attached to a woman he’s barely just met?

Robin moves past Regina to put her clothes in a paper bag and set them on the entryway table for her, then quickly comes back to the living room. She hasn’t moved - she’s still looking over his books with a small smile on her lips - and when he asks if she’d like a glass of wine, she accepts. He pours them each a glass of that Pinot Noir she said she liked - he went back and bought two bottles of it, just in case, and then he takes a seat on the couch to watch her as she moves about his living room.

“You have quite the collection of literature for a man who prefers to spend his time out of doors,” she comments, moving to the bookshelf on the other side of the telly and sipping on her wine.

Robin laughs and agrees. “Have to have something to do on those pesky rainy days,” he jokes, and she shoots him a small smile in return.

“And at night, I suppose,” she adds with her back to him.

“Well…” he starts to argue, then cuts himself off. He shouldn’t flirt with her like that - she’ll probably think he’s crude and obnoxious.

“Well, what?” Regina turns to look at him, her eyebrows raised in expectation of his answer.

Robin pauses, cringing inside at his own stupidity for opening the door to what he’s about to say, because he can’t _not_ finish his sentence now. “I was just going to say that there are activities more enjoyable than _reading _that I might prefer to occupy my evenings with.”

To his surprise, her lips curve upward in sinful amusement before she takes another sip of her wine, then looks at him over the top of her glass and challenges, “Such as?”

His stomach hits the floor with the low, throaty suggestiveness in her tone, his mouth goes dry, and it takes him a moment but eventually he manages, “Such as trying to win the affection of the gorgeous woman that’s standing in my living room.”

They hold each other’s eyes for a moment, and he’s concerned he’s crossed the line, but then she takes a long, slow drink of wine and asks, “And what would happen if you were to win such affection?”

Robin sets his wine glass on the side table and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, then looks up at her. He purposely runs his eyes over Regina; from her expertly painted toes, up her long, smooth legs, across the enticing flare of her hips and the narrow dip of her waist; he takes in the full curves of her breasts and the fine, elegant lines of her neck, then studies each perfectly carved feature of her face, pausing at her dark brown eyes - so expressive, so intense - and he tells her honestly, “I’m fairly certain I’d be the happiest bloke on Earth.”

Regina finishes her wine, sets her glass on the bookshelf behind her, then looks him straight in the eyes and says, “Then consider yourself a winner, Robin Locksley.”

He barely has time to murmur, “_Bloody hell_,” before she’s striding toward him, her entire demeanor changing like the flip of a switch from relaxed to fiery as she approaches, her hands going straight for his shoulders to press down firmly when he starts to stand. As she leans toward him he settles back in full acceptance, thankful that she is taking control, that she’s the one leading wherever this is going so he doesn’t have to worry as much about where she wants to draw the line tonight.

Robin’s hands automatically land on her waist when she shifts closer still, pushing him deeper into the couch cushions before she lifts one leg, bending it at the knee and moving to - _oh christ -_ to straddle his thigh. Her hands skate in from his shoulders to run the length of his collar bones, then slide up his throat, her thumbs nudging under his chin to tip his head back until he’s looking straight up into her eyes. Then Regina wraps her soft, feminine fingers around his jaw, moves her other hand to the base of his throat, brings her face so close to his that their lips are mere millimeters apart and asks, “Is this the type of _affection _you were hoping for?”

He swallows thickly under the firm grip of her hand and murmurs, “Yeah, babe,” then she crashes her lips against his, stealing what little breath he had as his heart rate skyrockets. Regina moves her hands from his throat around to the back of his neck to scratch at his hairline as their lips connect - it’s hot and rough and desperate - and the quick flick of her tongue is so sexy, she’s so gorgeous, so hot and so damn _good at this_, that he moans into her mouth when she slides her tongue into his, and he rocks his hips up without meaning to.

She makes this raspy little, “Mmm...” when he does it though, so he slides his hands further around her back and tugs her arse down as he does it again. _Fuck,_ she feels amazing on him - even through his jeans, even though she’s not really pressing against him all that much, just the little bit of friction he _is_ getting is turning him on like crazy.

Regina drags her teeth roughly across his bottom lip, then sucks it slowly, soothingly, and the next time she pulls back from their kisses to catch a quick breath he rasps, “Feels so good.”

Apparently he’s said the magic words, because the next time she presses her lips to his he can feel her smiling against him, and when he runs his fingers through her thick hair and tips her head back to kiss the creamy column of her throat, she’s downright grinning as she tells him, “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Her confidence, her arrogance is so bloody hot that he’s now fully erect and straining against his jeans as she brings her other knee up onto the couch so she’s fully straddling his lap. The new position is almost unbearable - her bright red dress is bunched up at her hips now, the stretchy, flowy fabric just barely covering her arse as she settles on top of him with her core hovering right over where he’s hard and aching for her. His mind’s eye tortures him and reminds him that if they weren’t wearing any clothes right now, all he’d have to do is shift his hips up and he could slide right inside of her. He wonders if she’s wet for him, wonders _how _wet she is - if she’s soaked, and swollen, and as anxious for his touch as he is for hers. He wonders if she’d make him wear a condom, or if she’s got one of those device things and would let him go bareback if he promised to pull out. _Christ_. He wants to get inside of her so bad he might die with the wanting.

“Tell me,” she says, her voice rough and low as she sucks hotly on his pulse point and rubs her hands up and down his chest, “When was the last time you did this with someone?”

Regina runs her tongue in little circles across his neck as she licks and nips and sucks her way to the other side, and Robin tries to think of the last time he had sex, or really, had anything close to it.

“I…” he struggles, flexing his hands on her bare thighs, “I honestly can’t remember.”

She pulls back from his neck with one last nip at his throat and sits back in his lap, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she studies his face. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”

Robin feels his face flush with embarrassment, and he drops his eyes to the hem of her dress, starts playing with the edge of it where it’s stretched across the tops of her legs as he tries to explain. “Well, my ex and I moved here this past November, and we didn’t have any sort of relations after the move, so it must’ve been some time before that, but I can’t seem to remember when.” He feels ashamed, wonders how long Regina has gone without, then immediately tries to stop that train of thought. A woman like Regina doesn’t have to go without, of that much he’s certain.

Her hands cup his face then, and her lips press firmly, sweetly to his before she pulls back, touches her forehead to his and asks, “_Before_ November? You’re sure?”

He’s confused why she’s asking this, but he nods because it’s the truth and tells her, “I’m positive.”

Regina kisses him again, wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses her chest to his in a tight embrace. She rocks her hips against him, lets her legs splay just a bit wider and presses her core down against his groin - _god that feels amazing _\- and tells him, “You are such a good man, Robin - so good, _god_, you’re so good. I’m going to make you feel incredible, baby.”

Robin’s not exactly sure what he just did right, but suddenly the gods are smiling on him, and his life just got a whole lot better, because Regina is practically _on fire_ for him now.

Their kisses are fast and rough, teeth clacking, lips pulling and tongues tangling as they tilt their heads for more and more. Her hands are frantically working at getting his shirt open, slipping the buttons through their holes at light speed as she grinds down in his lap. He tries to be helpful but can’t seem to do much else than grab two handfuls of her perfect, round arse - which feels so firm, and full, and delectable that he may _never_ let go - and he pulls her down onto him as he thrusts his hips up.

Regina swivels her hips and he groans at the feel of her pressing against him - _christ_ \- then he lets go of her arse and smooths his hands up her thighs under her skirt. He touches the edge of her knickers and feels lace -_ oh yeah _\- runs his fingers along the band around to the back and _\- fucking hell - _discovers it’s a thong. He’s just sliding his fingers around to the front, determined to answer his question about just _how wet_ she is, when her hands finish their work on his shirt and she pulls the sides of it open, rakes her eyes down his chest and whispers, “God, you’re beautiful.”

He’s not sure anyone has ever called _him_ beautiful, but before he has a chance to comment on it she’s reaching for his belt - _oh fuck_ \- tugging the leather through the metal and unbuckling it quickly, then opening the the fly of his jeans and slipping her hand inside to cup him over his underwear. Robin’s breath shudders out hard as he jerks his hips up in reaction, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as she rubs her hand along his length.

“Mmm, you’re so hard,” she praises, looking down between them and biting on her bottom lip as she curls her fingers over him through the thin fabric.

He’s so turned on he’s nearly shaking with restraint. Robin runs his hands up her sides and frames her ribs, then rubs his thumbs along the underside of her breasts, wishing she was naked so he could get his mouth on her tits. He wonders what her nipples look like, and suddenly he’s dying to know, leaning forward to press hot, sucking kisses along the generous neckline of her dress, running his tongue as far inward as he can, but he can’t quite reach them. He starts to shift the fabric to the side but Regina pulls away and starts shoving his shirt off of his shoulders, and it seems like a good idea until she gets it pushed down to his cuffs, which he’s forgotten to unbutton, and now he’s awkwardly trapped with his hands behind his back.

“A bit of help with the sleeves, if you please,” he asks, motioning to the shirt.

Regina gives him a devilish look, her voice is sexy and low as she rumbles, “Oh, I think I quite like this.” She takes advantage of his tied hands and starts tugging his pants and underwear down, not stopping until he’s naked on his sofa, save for his socks and the cuffs of his shirt.

“Mm,” she purrs, standing over him. “I like this, very much indeed.”

Her voice is deeper now, almost authoritative; he gets the feeling that she might like to be in control in the bedroom, and it makes him ache for her touch, his stomach flips with eagerness and - _oh god_ \- if she starts ordering him around, starts teasing him, starts edging him, he’s going to make a point of thanking all the gods in all the heavens for his blind luck at finding her. A woman like Regina is a queen, she is made to be served, and he will gladly get down on his knees and give her whatever she demands of him, if only she’ll give him the chance.

“What is it you like?” he asks, settling back, letting his knees spread a bit wider and waiting to see how she’ll react to that, to see if she wants to play this game, or if she was just messing about. Regina’s eyes run down his body and she makes fists of her hands, rubbing her thumbs slowly over her fingers as she studies him. “Tell me what you desire, and perhaps it can be yours,” he adds.

“Careful,” Regina’s voice is a low warning, her eyes very, _very _serious as she brings them to his. “You may not understand what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain I do,” he throws back, slightly cocky. “I want whatever you’re willing to give.”

She bites her lip for a moment and narrows her eyes as she stares at him. Robin can see her chest rising and falling quickly as she battles with herself, and just when he’s sure she’s about to back out on him, she asks, “You’re sure?”

Robin nods, his heart pounding in his chest, then follows up with, “Absolutely.”

She takes a deep breath and a mask of calm settles over her face. “You want to know what I want?” Her dark eyes sweep over his body slowly as she says, matter of factly, “I want to suck your cock.”

Robin huffs out a shaky, excited breath.

“But,” she warns, a sharp edge to her tone, “Under no circumstances will you touch me while I’m doing it. If you do, I’ll stop and I’ll leave.”

Regina waits for him to nod his agreement, then continues, “You are to be silent, and you are to stay perfectly still - you will not so much as _twitch _unless I allow it. Understand?”

“_Christ_,” Robin mutters, _so_ turned on. “Yeah, darling, I’ve got it.”

“Silence begins _now_,” she snaps, and Robin has to bite his lip to stop the hum of excitement he wants to make just from her saying that. This is not at all how he envisioned their first tryst, but he’s certainly not about to complain - this is way beyond what he could have hoped for.

He has no idea how Regina is able to act so bloody calm and collected about all of this, because he’s dying with anticipation as she grabs a pillow from the couch and tosses it to the floor between his feet. He expects her to kneel on it, to get right to business, but of course, that’s not at all what she does. Instead, she’s apparently decided to tease him to death, because he’s already agreed not to move, or touch her, or make a sound, and _now_ is when she decides to tug the hem of her dress slowly _up, up, up_ as he stares slack jawed and waits for those lace knickers to finally come into view.

Her black hair is falling directly in her eyes as she looks down and watches herself pull her dress up, her long fingers splayed teasingly wide across her thighs as if to make him think about just what else her fingers might be capable of doing. He shifts his hips toward her in excitement and immediately realizes his mistake. _Fuck_.

“Were my instructions at all unclear?” she drawls, stopping her hands and looking up at him through her lashes.

Robin shakes his head no.

“Then I expect you to follow them.”

He swallows and nods.

She returns to pulling up the hem of her dress until it’s bunched at the hinge of her hip and thigh, then strokes her fingers up her gorgeous legs, giving him a little show as goosebumps break across her legs with the intimate touch. He’s transfixed watching her drag her fingertips along her inner thighs, slow… slow… slowly, inching toward her core then slipping under the bit of her dress that still covers her and lingering where he can’t actually see but – _christ_ – he knows she’s touching herself. He can hear the wet clicking sound of her fingers working through her folds, can see the slight movement when she increases the speed of her fingers, and his cock throbs in reaction, his mouth waters, he wishes like hell he had the use of his hands.

A hot flush rises up his chest as he stares at her hands working beneath her dress, and he wonders if she’ll get off this way, if she’ll keep rubbing herself until she comes and he’ll get to watch, but then she leans forward and places a knee on the couch between his legs, then drops her mouth to his chest and starts sucking hot, wet kisses across his collar bones, his pecs, his nipples and lower, as her fingers trace his ribs and abs. Robin breaks out in a rush of goosebumps under her touch, fighting the shiver that rushes down his spine and doing his best not to arch toward her. Regina’s mouth is talented, her tongue swirls and flicks across each sensitive and ticklish spot of his upper body as if she has already mapped out where he most enjoys being touched, so that within minutes he’s panting and balling his hands tightly into fists where they’re trapped behind his back, desperate to keep himself from breaking her rules.

She raises up and kisses his lips, slides her tongue hotly into his mouth to tease against his, flicking and probing deeply as she possessively claims him. Regina wraps her hand tightly around the back of his neck to keep his mouth pressed to hers, digging her sharp nails into his skin as she sucks hard on his lips, kissing and kissing him until they’re both completely breathless. When she finally breaks the kiss she presses her forehead to his, then brings her free hand to his chin and tugs his mouth open, slips the pad of her thumb over his bottom teeth for a moment, then trades her thumb for two of her fingers and - _holy fucking god above - _ they’re warm and _slick_. Robin instantly _knows_ that she’s just pulled those two fingers from inside of her - _jesus christ_ \- and he sucks greedily on them as he groans loudly with the salty taste of her, swirls his tongue and cleans every trace just before she rips her fingers from his mouth and - _ah fuck!_ \- scratches her nails down his chest.

The red marks burn but he knows what he did - he wasn’t supposed to make any noise - though he doubts he could’ve stopped it. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut to try to calm down; he’s still got the flavor of her on his tongue and he’s so worked up it’s starting to hurt.

“Another outburst,” she growls, rubbing her thumbs in little circles over his nipples, “And you won’t be allowed to come in my mouth.”

Robin’s jaw drops open and he almost whines - _almost_ \- but she tilts her head in a silent warning and he catches himself at the last second, thankfully snapping his mouth shut in time to stop it.

“Good boy,” she praises, and her approval sends a shot of desire straight through him so strong that he starts to drip with precum.

His entire body shudders with arousal, he's so close already - she hasn’t touched his rigid length _at all_ and he’s certain that with just a few strokes he could come for her. He knew she was different - _knew_ she was worth all the work to get them to this point - she’s the perfect combination of a lady in the streets and a devil between the sheets. _God,_ he’s a lucky bastard.

She shifts back then, and - _oh, oh thank the gods - _she situates herself between his thighs and slowly sinks to her knees before him.

“Shift forward,” she instructs, and Robin jumps to obey her, immediately moving his hips toward the edge of the sofa so it’ll be easier for her to work her mouth on him. His legs are shaking, his lower abs quivering with eagerness, he almost feels like a virgin and it’s not a feeling he’s even upset about. The power this woman commands is positively stunning.

“Do you remember the rules?” she asks, wrapping the fingers of her right hand around the base of his length.

Robin nods his head and bites his lip in anticipation.

“Repeat them.”

He tries to tell her the rules as she starts to pump him with her pretty hand, but he gets distracted and can’t voice them. Her fingers are fine boned and so, so soft as she works them smoothly up and down his entire length, giving him a little twist at the top and smearing his precum around, and he’s transfixed watching his dick disappear and reappear in her fist, so much so that he doesn’t even hear her saying his name until she uses her other hand to give his balls a good squeeze, which brings him to his senses rather quickly.

“Already not following directions,” she scolds, but keeps pumping his shaft. “And I haven’t even put my mouth on you. Do you think I’ll go down on you, if you can’t even repeat the rules with simply my hand stroking you?”

“I’m not to move,” he rushes out, his voice hoarse, accent thick. Regina raises her eyebrow expectantly and he continues, “Or t-touch you,” he clenches his jaw as she increases the speed of her hand, flexing her wrist as she works the head of him while her other hand reaches lower to cup and massage him. “And, and I muuuuust,” he has to pause and fight back his orgasm, she has him right on the edge, the hot, tingling sensation trying to rush up, he’s so, so stimulated - _fuck_ \- he can barely hold back - _oh shit_ \- “I must be s-s-silent,” he stutters, and she mercifully pulls her hands away from him - _thank fucking god_.

“Mm,” she nods approvingly, “That’s better.”

Regina rubs her hands soothingly up and down his muscular thighs for a moment, waiting for him to calm, then quietly, almost _reverently_, as if speaking to herself more than him, she whispers, “Such a good man.”

A wave of male possessiveness hits him at her shift in attitude, his heart aches for her, and the muscles of his shoulders bunch and strain as he pulls hard at the fabric at his wrists, fighting for the freedom to wrap her up in his arms, to show her just how good _she _is, but no matter how he struggles, he can’t get free. Then she’s leaning forward to press a hot, sucking kiss to the tip of his hard length - _fuck_ \- her hair brushes the tops of his thighs, his mind goes completely blank, and he can think of nothing other than the glorious feeling of her plump, slick lips as she slides him into her mouth.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t thrust - a bloody miracle. The ‘not talking’ is easier - he can bite his own tongue or lips to make sure he remembers to be quiet, but _christ alive_, the way Regina’s tongue swirls and flicks and laves over every inch of his him is pure perfection. Her mouth is heaven - she is a goddess on her knees in front of him, and – _christ -_ he wants so badly to please her that he literally doesn’t move a single muscle, not even to breathe. If he does, he’s going to thrust, and if she won’t let him touch her - won’t let him suck on her tits, or her neck, or her swollen little clit, he can’t repay her in any way other than obedience. And - _god _\- he really wants to repay her for this, wants her to feel as incredible as he’s feeling right now. This is by far the best he’s felt in forever, and it’s not because she’s blowing him, it’s because it’s _her_ who is blowing him, and Regina is nothing short of magical.

She hollows her cheeks with intense suction as she slides her mouth up and down his length for several strokes, and pauses to swirl her tongue around and around his tip. Then she lets him slip from her mouth so she can look up at him and instructs, “Breathe, Robin.”

He shakes his head _No_. He can’t - if he does he’ll come, or move, or moan - he’s out of control and holding his breath is the only thing keeping him together right now.

She frowns and narrows her eyes at him, and her disapproving look causes him to break, forces him to take a deep, heaving breath. Unfortunately, it does exactly what he thought it would - he jerks his hips up toward her mouth and accidentally bumps the tip of his length right against her chin - _fuck_.

“You’re such a tease,” she smirks, surprising him when she wraps her fingers back around him and starts pumping him in earnest. “Tell me, does this feel good?”

“So good, amazing, perfect,” he gasps.

She smiles darkly and watches her hand work over him for several strokes as he fights his body’s urge to move his hips in time with her movements. He’s broken out into a sweat, panting now, unable to calm his breathing, having been too close to the edge to even pretend to have control.

“But you want more don’t you?”

Robin nods frantically - wanting her mouth so, _so badly_.

“You want to finish in my mouth?”

He nods again, begs, “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please-lemme-come-in-your-mouth.”

“Mm,” she tips her head to the side and considers it, dips her head down to lave the flat of her tongue over the sensitive head of his cock, and Robin is near tears with arousal, with desperation for her. He needs to come, wants to so much, wants more than anything for her to let him come in her mouth.

“You are so good, Robin,” she murmurs, stroking her other hand over his abs then up his chest to rest right over his heart while she looks up at him. “You may come in my mouth - you may move, and you may speak -” Robin groans his relief and immediately starts to thrust into her hand, “But you may _not_ touch me.” There is a darkness in her tone with this last part that makes something inside of him feel dirty, but he’s too lost in his arousal to be able to stop what they’re doing to get into it, and he’s certain she won’t allow it right now anyway.

“I understand,” he tells her, then, “You are so fucking gorgeous, darling, thank you, I -”

He can’t finish his sentence because she slips her lips back over him, sucking hard while her tongue does sinful things that make him buck and shove his length down her throat, and words are too much. She makes this low hum that vibrates along his length and he growls in reply, almost losing it, nearly there – _fuck that feels so good -_ and when she uses her hand to stroke the base of his length fast – oh god oh _fuck - _while her tongue works the head of him, alternating sucking and swirling - _that’s it_ \- he’s done for, he barely has time to warn her before he comes.

She’s _beautiful_ as she takes it, swallowing carefully around him with her eyes closed, a soft moan reverberating deep in her throat. She keeps pumping him at the base with her hand as he shudders, and she even continues to slide her tongue along the underside of his shaft as he spills, just how he likes it - _oh god_ \- until he’s finally spent, and he collapses back into the couch cushions.

After a few seconds Regina slowly rises, reaches for his glass of wine of the side table and takes a long, slow sip. She swallows, takes another drink, then turns to him and presses a kiss to his lips. Robin immediately sits up straighter, ready to give her a turn because _god_, he so wants to get her off the way she just did for him.

“Give me a call, if you want to do this again sometime,” she says, her voice low. She kisses him again then pulls back and starts for the entryway.

Robin is shocked into immobility for exactly two seconds - _she’s leaving?!_

“Uhh, wait! Wait just a moment!” he calls to her, trying to get up but flailing around like a right idiot with his hands still caught behind his back.

Regina pauses as she slips her shoes on by the front door and says, “Hm?”

“Regina I-? I thought we had a nice date tonight?” he says a little brokenly, fighting with his shirt. “And after what we just did… forgive me for being a bit thick, but I guess I thought that meant we might be dating now…?”

“You still want to date me, even after that?” she asks, looking dubious.

“Well _yeah_,” he exclaims, “Even more now.” Robin laughs, then feels his face heat with embarrassment.

She just stares at him for a moment, then for some reason _she_ blushes and looks down. Regina tucks her hair behind her ear, and he finally gets his hands free from his shirt, grabs his boxer briefs and tugs them on, then practically runs across the room to her.

“Hey,” he says, brushing her hair back from her cheek and letting his hand rest on the nape of her neck. “This was incredible but, I still want a chance to get to know you.”

Her eyes are wide in the dim lamplight, and she looks nervous - skittish - so he doesn’t wait for her to answer. He presses a soft, sweet kiss to her lips instead and asks quietly, “So I’ll definitely be giving you that call for another _date_, if that’s alright?”

She nods, and Robin feels like he could jump for joy.

He tries to get Regina to stay a while longer so he can repay her efforts from earlier, but she tells him it’s late and that she needs to head home. So, he throws on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then walks her down to catch a cab, understanding, but feeling quite guilty that she took such good care of him but she’s going home without him having tended to her needs. He steals another kiss before she slides into the taxi, promising to call her to set up their next date, then he spends the rest of his night reeling from the euphoria brought on from the most amazing date he’s ever been on.

God, he cannot wait to take her out again. Regina is an amazing woman, and Robin vows that he will do everything in his power to make her feel as good or better than she just made him feel – he is certain she deserves nothing less.


	8. Chapter Seven

** _ Storybrooke - December 25th, 2015 _ **

The doorbell rings just after seven thirty in the morning and Regina rushes excitedly from the kitchen, brushing off her red apron and straightening her silk blouse as she heads for the front door, the most real smile she’s had in weeks turning her lips upward as she yanks on the heavy iron handle.

“Henry, sweetie, you know you don’t need to ring the doorbell –“ she cuts herself off as she comes face to face with Snow White, who is standing _alone_ on her front porch. “Where’s Henry?” Regina snaps.

Snow says nothing but gives her a knowing, pitying look that makes Regina’s lips pull back in a snarl. She hates it when her step-daughter looks at her like this. She doesn’t want her sympathy, she doesn’t want her pity – _she wants her son._

“No,” Regina protests angrily, shifting so she can look past Snow to see if Henry is trailing up the snow-covered sidewalk, his head bowed as he plays on his Gameboy or texts on his phone. Surely, he’s just late. Surely, he won’t punish her further, won’t make her spend _Christmas _without him, won’t withhold his love from her on today of all days. She won’t survive it.

“I’m truly sorry, Regina,” Snow says in that sweet, sympathetic tone she only uses when someone has died. “He’s not coming.”

“What do you mean, ‘he’s not coming’?” Regina growls, her anger mounting as she straightens up in the frame of her front door. “We discussed this, Snow. You said you’d talk to him, you said you would at least get him to come for a few minutes. Now where _the hell_ is my son?”

“May I come in?” Snow sighs, and Regina rolls her eyes as she steps back to let the younger woman in – if she wants to enter the lion’s den, she certainly isn’t about to stop her. Snow removes her hat, coat and boots, then follows Regina to the kitchen.

She was in the middle of making Henry’s applesauce cake when the doorbell rang – it’s his absolute favorite, regardless of his supposed fear of her and her ‘poisoned’ apples, and she makes it for him every year at Christmas. It’s one of their traditions; they open presents Christmas morning, then she drinks her coffee and he eats as much cake as he wants (within reason), while he tells her which of his gifts he is most excited about, and she thanks him for whatever gift he’s dreamed up for her. She hadn’t expected him to get her anything this Christmas, but she already knew she was going to be more grateful than any other year out of the past fourteen, just to have him sitting next to her at the kitchen table, eating his cake. She cannot fathom a future filled with not seeing him at Christmas.

“What is your excuse this time?” Regina barks, glaring at Snow’s back as the other woman heads to one of the stools at the kitchen island and slides up onto it. “What could you possibly have to say to make up for me spending today, _Christmas day_–“ her voice breaks and she pauses, eyes burning with humiliation, hurt, and fear, “apart from the one person I love more than anything in all the realms?” A tear slips down her cheek, and then another; it’s getting difficult to breathe, her chest feels tight like she’s in the grip of a boa constrictor. “What, Snow? _What have you come to say_?!” She’s yelling by the end of her questioning, though she doesn’t mean to be.

“Okay, okay,” Snow says quietly, her hands raised in front of her in surrender. “Please calm down,” she continues, “I want to talk with you about this, but not if you’re going to go waving knives at me the whole time.”

Regina pauses, utterly confused, then Snow nods her head in the direction of Regina’s right hand, and when Regina looks down, she sees that she’s pointing a large, ornate dagger right at Snow. She stares at it in shock, _knows_ she wasn’t brandishing the weapon at her when she started yelling – in fact, she’s fairly certain she was holding a simple, completely non-threatening wire whisk.

Dear god, she’s already breaking. Today is her last chance to persuade him, her last shot at winning Henry’s forgiveness before she goes through with her plan to restore his happiness. She thought she was strong enough to get through this, but she realizes now that she’s never going to survive it, she’s never going to be able to lead a life without her son. The pain of losing him is already too much, but if she can’t see him, if she can’t speak to him then she doesn’t have any other choice - his happiness must come first - why won’t anyone help her, why can’t anyone else understand that?

She immediately drops the dagger as if it’s burned her, it hits the granite countertop with a loud _clang!_ and Regina quickly backs away from the island, shoving her hands into her hair to hide her face from Snow. It occurs to her that - _oh no_ \- Snow is going to tell Henry about this – no, Snow will tell _Charming_ about this – and then _he’ll _tell Henry, and - oh god - she’s just added fuel to the fire of her very own witch trial once again.

“I’m sorry,” Regina says quietly, visibly shaking. “I’m sorry Snow, I didn’t mean to threaten you.” She brushes the tears off her cheeks and looks up to see Snow studying her. “I just, I miss him so much.”

“I know how you feel. When we were separated from Emma-” Snow starts, but again, Regina’s temper gets the better of her.

“That isn’t _at all_ the same,” Regina cuts in, “And if you think it is, you’re even more delusional than I thought you were.” Snow looks irritated but Regina continues, unphased, “Yes, you had to send Emma away, but you didn’t _know_ you were separated. You spent twenty-eight blissful years in complete ignorance of what you were missing. I know every _second_ of every _minute_ of every _hour_ of every _day _that my son does not want to be with me, that he thinks that I am _evil_, that he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me, that he doesn’t, he won’t –” Regina breaks down again, her throat constricts with emotion and she is unable to defend herself for what feels like the millionth time. She forces herself to take several deep breaths through her nose before she finishes darkly, “No, Snow, this is _not at all_ the same.”

“Maybe not,” Snow concedes. “Being that it’s Christmas though, have you considered…” she trails off.

“Have I considered what?” Regina snaps.

“Well,” Snow tilts her head and looks Regina over. “It _is _the season of giving, and I wondered if you considered just giving Henry what he’s asked you for.”

Regina opens and closes her mouth several times, clearly flummoxed. “Give him what he wants?” she repeats, shocked, desolate, and hurt all the way down to her core.

“Yes,” Snow nods, “I know it’s difficult for you, that you feel like your pride is all you have right now, but Regina, if you could just see what the rest of us see, if you would just bite the bullet and come clean to Henry, at least then you could _start_ making up for what you’ve done. It’s not going to be easy, but you’re not going to be able to earn his trust if you insist on playing games with his head like this. He’s fifteen, for goodness sake, he’s only two years younger than you were when you married my father - he’s old enough now to tell the truth from the lies, you can’t fool him anymore.”

Regina cannot believe what she has just heard. Even the purest, most heroic of them all, the infallible Snow White doesn’t believe her.

She tips her chin up in a last show of defiance. “What if I’m not lying?” Regina asks, trying to be brave and flinching when her voice sounds weak. “What if you’re all wrong about me? What if for once, the heroes got it wrong? What should I do if that’s the case?”

“Oh, Regina,” Snow sighs defeatedly.

“Tell me,” Regina demands, the octave of her voice rising, tears in her eyes threatening to spill at any second. She’s shaking so hard she has to fold her arms and press her body into the corner of her kitchen cabinets to keep from sliding to the floor. “Tell me, Snow White, _what then_?” she repeats, her voice is rough with emotion, barely recognizable.

Snow shakes her head back and forth as if she’s bewildered, then holds her hands up in front of her and says, “I… I want you to know that I don’t blame you for the way you are. Your mother was a master manipulator, and you were raised to think that that was acceptable behavior for a mother. But this can be your chance to try something new, Regina. You don’t have to be that kind of mother anymore. You can change the type of influence you have on Henry’s life into something _good_, but you have to start from somewhere positive; you can’t expect it to happen by forcing him to do what you want or by luring him with his favorite foods.”

“Are you saying that the type of influence I have on my son is _not_ good? Are you saying it’s… _evil_?” Regina asks brokenly. There is a voice in her head screaming at her that she has turned into her mother, and it makes her want to vomit.

Snow cringes, then stands and makes her way around the island to stand in front of Regina. “I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to hear, but as the step-daughter you spent years trying to murder, I think you need to be aware of the effect your influence can have on a child.” She passes Regina, heads for the front door, and starts putting on her winter outerwear while Regina stares blankly into her kitchen.

“I hope you'll consider what I said,” Snow calls from the entry. “Merry Christmas, Regina.”

Regina stands in her kitchen for _hours _after Snow leaves, unable to move, unable to do anything but think about the fact that for fifteen years, she has poisoned her son with her evil influence, just like her mother had poisoned her.

Vile.

Corrupt.

_Evil_.

The Evil Queen.

It is certainly a moniker she’s earned time and time again, but never has she regretted it as much as she does in this moment.

* * *

** _ New York - August 26th, 2016 _ **

Regina makes Robin wait an entire week to have their next date. She doesn’t do it to be cruel, or to be a tease, she does it because she isn’t sure she can handle anything sooner than that. The fact of the matter is that she’s madly, desperately, foolishly in love with him, she _has been_ and always _will be_ in love with him, and it is much too easy for her to forget that she does not deserve to be in love with him, especially when she’s touching him in the intimate, passionate way she was the last time she saw him.

It’s a fine line she has to tread in order to give Robin what he wants without corrupting him, without letting him fall prey to the evil in her that is always attempting to destroy everyone’s happiness. But if she can stay focused, if she can stay diligent, strong, and steady, she thinks she can give him and Roland what little bit of goodness is left in her heart before the last of the healthy tissue is inevitably consumed by the necrotic black.

But it’s not going to be easy.

It’s a Friday evening and Robin has taken her to a nearby park where a local cover band has set up to play for the evening. Several food trucks line the streets, there are people, dogs and children laughing and running all over, playing frisbee and enjoying the warm summer evening as the band settles into their first set of the night. Regina’s not sure what Robin has planned, but she’s been eyeballing those two big blankets he brought with him, and the picnic basket too, neither of which he’d tell her the purpose of, but she’s beginning to figure out why he told her to make sure she wore something she wouldn’t mind getting a bit of DEET sprayed on.

He finds them what he must determine to be a good spot over by a large oak tree toward the back of the crowd, then gets to work spreading out the large plaid blanket as Regina stands to the side, holding tightly to the picnic basket and trying not to get emotional. It won’t make sense to him if she cries about this; he doesn’t remember any of the times they picnicked together in Storybrooke, he doesn’t remember the way they talked and laughed and cuddled, the way they slowly got to know one another at the park, or out in the forest, or sometimes, even in her own backyard. So she fights the emotions down, tries to disconnect herself from it all and listens to the band and whatever terrible music they’re trying to play until Robin takes the basket from her, then holds out his hand and asks her to join him on the blanket.

She’s wearing stretchy black pants, strappy sandals, and a purple, flowy, long sleeved chiffon blouse tonight that has a high neckline, purposely planned with the unforgiving fabric to keep Robin’s wandering hands from, well, wandering. Whether _he _knows it or not, she certainly remembers how much he loves to touch and tease her breasts, how he can’t seem to keep his hands or, many times, his _mouth_ away from them, and if he rediscovers his affinity for it, she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to make him happy without getting at least _some_ pleasure out of it. Whether Robin uses his hands or his mouth to stimulate her breasts doesn’t really seem to matter – any attention he pays to her chest is a surefire way of getting her to take her panties off, which is another lesson that Robin learned in Storybrooke, and often utilized to do just that. So she’s trying to keep him away from that area, because this is about _him_, and what makes _him _feel good, and her breasts have absolutely nothing to do with that.

He’s packed them a light dinner of assorted cheeses, cold cuts, crackers, and fruits, so they set everything out and sample from it as they fall into conversation. He asks her what she likes to do for fun, obviously trying to plan for future dates, so she tries to think up things normal people like to do, tries to think of boring, mundane activities that he won’t be able to make grand gestures out of. Robin is a romantic and she can’t let him put effort into her like he would if she was a viable option for him. She doesn’t want him to waste his time, his money, or his hope on someone, no, on some_thing,_ that only has the power to destroy him.

Regina tells him she enjoys going out to dinner, to museums, and to the movies, and she’s just about to tell him another equally boring activity, when he bursts out laughing and tells her, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I am not!” she argues, more offended than she should be. She’s an _excellent_ liar, how the hell did he see through her so easily?

“Well, you’re not fooling me with those dreary events,” he smirks, biting a piece of cheese in half. “Movies? Museums? _Please _\- you’d be asleep within the first five minutes.”

She opens her mouth to prove him wrong, then closes it, because she really can’t think of a counterpoint. She probably _would _fall asleep - when you’ve lived in a castle full of beautiful artwork and ancient relics, and you can literally make magic in your hands, museums and movies lose most of their appeal.

“And as far as enjoying going to dinner, that’s not saying much at all now, is it? I bet every person in this park would say they like to eat.” He gives her a cheeky grin and she glares at him, because he really has caught her in her lies, and dammit, now she’s going to have to give him something honest, something _real_, and she’s supposed to be avoiding that.

After a moment of annoyed silence, Regina begrudgingly tells him, “Opera - I enjoy going to the opera.” Robin perks up like a happy puppy at her admission and she rolls her eyes.

“Now _that,_” he munches on a cracker, “I can believe.”

“Oh? That’s an acceptable answer for you, is it?” she asks, equally annoyed and amused by him.

“Sure,” he smiles, then reaches over to where she’s leaning back, bracing on her hand, and he skates the pads of his fingers lightly across the backs of her knuckles. “And I’d even dare to say that you cry during the dramatic parts of the performance.”

“I do _not_,” Regina immediately disagrees - too immediately - she’s obviously defensive, like a petulant child.

Robin laughs, “Oh, I think you do. You might be tough as nails on the outside, darling, but I’ve a hunch you’re nothing but ooey, gooey softness on the inside.”

“I am _not_ soft, and I am definitely _not_ ‘gooey’,” she growls, getting more and more irritated with him. How dare he say such things? And how dare he call her _that._ He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know anything about her. If this was the Enchanted Forest she’d call for her guards to arrest him for his insolence. She can’t handle him slipping into old habits that he doesn’t even remember - it’s not fair, and so, so painful.

But this is not her kingdom, she isn’t a queen anymore, and she had better get her act together before she does or says something she regrets. Regina takes a deep breath and pushes the anger, the flare of destruction down, _down_.

“I like to go horseback riding,” she tells him, trying to change the subject. “I enjoy the sport very much, though I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Is that so?” Robin asks, dropping the topic of opera and following her lead. They discuss their mutual love of horses and move on to hobbies that Robin enjoys - camping, fishing, and of course, anything he can do together with Roland.

They spend quite a bit of time talking about Roland after that, and it takes every ounce of Regina’s infamous concentration to act relatively normal and not to have a full blown breakdown over how much she loves and misses the boy as Robin goes on and on about him. The little bit of Roland she has seen and interacted with since she came to New York is not nearly enough to satisfy the void that was left in her chest when the Locksleys left Storybrooke, and hearing all about his friends, his struggles with sharing, his funny antics and favorite foods, cartoons, and jokes are all so wonderful and torturous at the same time that Regina isn’t sure if she wants to stay in the conversation forever or to have it end immediately. But when Robin starts hinting about how Marian wanted nothing to do with Roland, how she hasn’t bothered to call or interact with him at all since _before_ the divorce, Regina gets so angry she digs her nails into her palms so hard she almost draws blood. Then the evil within her flares and she nearly makes a vow to rain vengeance down upon the other woman, should she ever cross paths with her again, before Regina can remember to control herself, to push down the malice and not let it out when she is so close to Robin, lest it start to seep into his heart too.

She starts to fix her face back into the picture of calmness, realizing that she probably looks as furious as she feels - especially when she catches Robin looking at her with an expression that is something close to concerned - and she’s about to redirect his attention but before she is able to, he asks, “Have you ever been married?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and nods. “Yes, I’m a widow, actually.”

“Oh my,” he looks surprised, then sad. “I’m sorry for your loss, that must have been very difficult for you.”

“Yes, at the time it was difficult,” she tells him carefully. “But I was married at a very young age and my husband and I…“ Regina pauses and takes a sip from the plastic cup filled with wine Robin smuggled in for them, “We were not a very good match, and we certainly weren’t in love with each other, so his passing wasn’t difficult in the way that you’re assuming, I think. It was difficult in many ways, but that of a broken heart was not one of them, if I’m being honest.”

Robin tips his head to the side and nods understandingly. She’s told him some of this before, in a similar setting, and he had almost the exact same reaction that time too. Non-judgmental, quiet, reserved. A very _Robin_ response that makes her smile softly and drop her eyes.

“My divorce sort of feels that way,” he admits after a few seconds of silence, and this surprises her, has her lifting her eyes to his, because to hear him speak ill of his marriage to Marian is astounding, especially considering the sacrifices they all made to keep it intact. “At first I felt a bit guilty that it wasn’t more devastating when my ex walked out. I kept thinking that I should be broken, that after more than fifteen years and a son together I should be completely lost without her but…” Robin cringes and takes a drink of his wine, then gives her a little shrug, “After the shock of it was over, all I felt, all I _feel_ is relief.”

Regina wants to touch him; with every cell in her body, she positively _aches_ for Robin - to hold him, to kiss him, to lay next to him for hours upon end. It is so unfair, so cruel that he had to endure the confusion of Marian walking out on him right after having lost what he shared with Regina (regardless of the corrupt and blackened state of her heart). _His_ heart would not have known the difference, would only have felt the cracks from being broken twice over in such a short amount of time, and to make matters worse - he doesn’t even remember _why_ his heart was broken. She has never seen such an ironic insult added to such a terrible injury, and the guilt consumes her.

Before she realizes she’s even doing it, she leans over and kisses him, presses her lips to his sweetly, slowly, and strokes her fingers along the scruffy line of his jaw. When she breaks the kiss he looks surprised but happy, and they trade a few lighter, easier pecks before she returns to her spot on the blanket and tries to regain her senses.

“How did she take it?” Robin asks quietly after a few minutes, and Regina furrows her brow in confusion. “Marian,” he clarifies. “When you quit spying on me for her, how did she take it?”

He doesn’t even ask her if she _did_ ‘quit’. He gives her his complete confidence as if she is a decent, honest person deserving of his trust. _Oh, Robin_.

Deciding she had better do a _much_ better job of lying this time, Regina scrambles for a good story to tell him. “She was… Well, she was very angry with me,” she tries, and when Robin nods, she continues, “She screamed at me over the phone and threatened to sue if I didn’t _give her what she wanted_.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Robin mutters, “She didn’t used to be that way, but ever since we moved to the city her temper has just… Well anyway, I am sorry. If she gives you further trouble, let me know and I’ll have a word with her about it.”

She argues politely with him about not getting involved (it’s a scenario that could never happen anyway, because she’s entirely made it up), then they are thankfully interrupted when someone’s frisbee lands next to them and Robin gets up to send it flying back. When he returns to sitting next to her, he’s noticeably closer, and Regina allows it, knowing he needs this physical connection, he needs to touch - it’s part of who he is, how he works. So she leans into his larger, warmer body and accepts his nearness, knowing that it will make him happy, that it will soothe and comfort him.

They’re quiet for a little while, listening to the band play and the low hum of people talking and kids laughing all around them, until Robin sits upright and says, “Oh! I almost forgot!” then he leans forward to dig through the picnic basket. A second later he pulls out a small box, shimmies the top off of it, and offers what’s inside to her - dark chocolate truffles.

Regina laughs.

“What?” he asks, smiling, “You don’t like dark chocolate?”

“No, I do,” she says, fighting her own smile. “But, really, Robin, you’re so cheesy.”

Sitting up a little straighter, he pulls the chocolates back toward him, and though he’s still smiling, she sees a flash of uncertainty cross his face. “True,” he shrugs, “I can’t help it, I’m a self-proclaimed romantic. If that’s not alright though, I suppose I could just eat these all on my own.” Robin takes one of the chocolates, stuffs the entire thing into his mouth, and Regina laughs again.

“I didn’t mean it was a bad thing, just a little predictable is all,” she amends, but Robin bristles next to her.

Shit, she’s just making him feel worse.

“Hey,” she calls softly, and when he doesn’t look at her, she reaches for his chin and turns his face. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you - this is so sweet, and very thoughtful,” she tries, noticing the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. Oh god, she is seriously in trouble and she has to fix this - she’s supposed to be making him feel good, not humiliated. _God._

Regina leans forward quickly and kisses Robin’s cheek, then his lips, because talking just seems to be digging her deeper into the hole, and she doesn’t know what else to do. She does her best to be thorough and attentive, gives him long, lingering kisses, presses her lips firmly to his over and over, then seeks entrance to his mouth by sweeping her tongue along his bottom lip. They open their mouths in tandem, and she kisses him deeply, tasting traces of chocolate when she sucks softly on his upper and lower lips, then tips her head the other way and runs her tongue against the roof of his mouth as his hand settles on the side of her neck. He’s a little reluctant at first, but the more she kisses him - the more she licks and nips and pulls at his lips - the more enthusiasm he gives her. She keeps going, keeps kissing him until he’s giving back what she’s giving, until he’s passionately pressing back against her mouth, sucking her tongue and pulling hard on her bottom lip, and they’re making out like teenagers under the big oak tree.

When she breaks the kiss they’re both breathless, he’s grinning, and she’s relieved to see that apparently she’s made up for insulting him. But then he gives her another soft kiss, starts to laugh, and says, “Well, that proves that.”

“What?” she asks, confused.

Robin kisses her again and tells her, “All it took was for me to get my feelings the slightest bit hurt, and your heart was bleeding all over our picnic with despair.” He kisses her yet again, but she immediately pulls back, annoyed. “You’re _gooey_ darling, absolutely gooey inside.”

“And you’re an ass,” she snaps, shifting away, thoroughly irritated that he tricked her into making a fool of herself, that he set her up to think she’d hurt his feelings, just so he could prove his point from earlier, the clever bastard.

“Come now, don’t be angry,” he smirks and eats another one of the truffles. “I’m sure there are worse things than for me to find out you’ve a heart of gold hidden away.” He leans over and kisses her cheek, and his words, paired with his actions, are almost enough to send her running from their date.

A heart of gold? God, he couldn’t be more wrong.

But he has a point - there are much worse things for him to find out than that she cares entirely too much about his happiness. So Regina forces herself to shake off her annoyance, gives him what she hopes looks like a playful eye roll, and does her best to get their date back on track.

When the sun goes down Robin persuades her to sit between his legs so he can put his arms around her and wrap them both up in the extra blanket he brought. It’s not _that_ cold out and Regina knows it’s an excuse to touch her, but she won’t fight him on this. He was always touching her in Storybrooke - not in annoying public displays of affection - but in casual, easy touches to let her know he supported her, or that he needed her, or that he loved her. It’s how he communicates; he’s not always great with words, but with touches, he’s an expert.

* * *

He could stay like this indefinitely.

Everything about this woman is incredible. She’s tucked up tight against him, her back pressed to his chest, his head ducked down so his face is next to hers as the band plays and he strums his fingers to the beat along the tops of her thighs. Regina’s hair smells amazing, it’s so thick but incredibly soft against the side of his face, too tempting to stop one of his hands from coming up to comb his fingers through it. She leans into his touch like she’s been starved for affection, and it’s so rewarding for him that she seems to crave his contact as much as he does hers, so he continues to play with her hair, strokes fingers through it over and over, along her temple and behind her ear, scratching softly at the nape of her neck, then gathering the bulk of her hair and sweeping it to the side so he can press his lips to her neck.

He sees her fight a smile when he does it, notices the way her chin tilts up so that he has better access to soft skin that’s exposed above the high collar of her blouse, and he does his best to make the most of the opportunity she’s given him. Robin shifts slightly to the side, presses soft kisses to her neck and jawline - _christ, _she smells good - then up to pull her earlobe between his lips and tug. He skims his other hand up over the top of her thigh, but her legs are pressed together and she doesn’t open for him when his fingers graze along the seam, so he skates his hand along the outside of her leg and up to her hip, then her waist, finally to stretch across her stomach, where he starts to rub little swirls against her through the thin fabric of her blouse with just the tips of his fingers.

“This alright?” he asks quietly, his lips against her ear for a moment before he drops another kiss just in front of it, then sucks lightly at her pulse point.

Regina takes in a sharp breath that sounds shaky to his ears but tells him, “Mmhmm,” so he continues his slow movements, his fingers making larger and larger circles on her flat stomach as his other hand runs soothingly through her hair.

He moves his hand on her stomach up a bit further, testing the waters, hoping she’ll let him get a feel of those perfect tits she’s got covered up so much tonight. While the blouse she’s wearing is undoubtedly elegant and flattering on her, it is such a sharp contrast to the red-hot dress of their last date that it’s driving him absolutely bonkers. It’s worse than if she’d worn something low-cut - this is much more of a tease, because he remembers what her chest looked like but he never got to _really_ see or feel her up properly the other night, and this shirt hides bloody everything from him. When his fingers brush the edge of her bra he stops his upward movement of his own accord and settles his hand against her while he massages the back of her neck and presses kiss after kiss to her jawline, trying to get her to turn her face to his so he can capture her lips. Her hands are rubbing lightly on his knees, tracing patterns over his patellas and up his thighs, and he’s quickly getting lost in her, getting hot for her, getting completely enamored with her.

“You’re so small,” he whispers, flattening his hand against the width of her stomach and sliding it across, allowing his thumb to brush the edge of her bra the entire way. “So soft. Love how you feel against me.”

This time her breath rushes out and it is obviously shaky; it confirms that she is affected by his touch, so he tries to up the intensity by sliding his hand up to brush his thumb along the bottom swell of her breast. Robin brings his other hand down too, unable to resist using both hands if she’s going to let him touch her chest. He can’t help it, he _loves_ breasts, but he especially likes _Regina’s,_ and he really wants to get his hands on her, wants to lift and squeeze them, wants to pinch and tug on her nipples, wants to find out how sensitive she is and discover all the things she’ll let him do.

In the next breath Robin takes a chance and slides both hands up to take two glorious handfuls of her breasts. Her back immediately arches, pressing them into his palms, and he massages them - _fuck_ her tits are perfect, full and firm and he can feel the hard tips of her nipples already - but then, without warning, Regina turns sideways in his lap and starts kissing him, her actions surprisingly aggressive as her hands go to the back of his head to pull him in close. Her movement causes his hands to fall to her waist, and he’s a bit disappointed - he barely got to touch her at all and he really enjoys touching a woman - not just because it turns him on, but because he wants to make her feel good too, he wants her to be as excited and aroused as he is, if not more so. He’s not quite sure how to do that if he’s not able to get his hands on some less innocent areas of her, and this is the second time it seems like she’s making that a bit of a challenge for him.

But he supposes he’ll take what he can get - her tongue in his mouth is certainly nothing to complain about, and neither is the way her hands are smoothing down his chest. When she nips his bottom lip and bumps his nose with hers, then pulls back and tells him in a low, raspy voice, “Mm, you feel good too, want you to feel even better,” the sound instantly makes him hot for her, and the burning look in her eyes gives away her intentions before she even reaches for his belt.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers as she pulls the leather through the buckle, her actions hidden from prying eyes by the blanket he’s got them wrapped up in. Their faces are close, even as she tips hers down to watch what she’s doing, and it’s probably too intimate, too familiar, but he just likes her so much, he feels so comfortable with her that when she shifts he threads his fingers into her hair and presses a kiss to her forehead, then her temple as she works the button of his jeans open. She pauses her movements when he does it, and he’s worried she’s going to scold him, but then she takes a breath and keeps going, slides her hand inside and wraps her fingers around his mostly hard length. He moans quietly as she guides him out through the fly of his jeans, carefully adjusting so he can tug his pants down a bit and give her some room to work. He can’t believe she’s going to do this - he doesn’t remember the last time someone else touched him with this goal in mind, and he certainly doesn’t remember ever doing it in a public park. But _god_, her hand feels so incredible as she teases him, brushing the pad of her thumb over and around the sensitive head of his him as she kisses and sucks on his bottom lip - _fuck_ \- she’s so hot he reflexively thrusts a little to try to get her to stroke him.

Regina kisses his cheek and shifts her upper body closer to him, as if she’s cuddling to ward off the chill of the night, but in reality, it allows her to move her hand more without it being seen under the blanket. She puts her lips to his ear when Robin rocks his hips up again and teases, “Mm, someone is eager,” then she speeds her hand and starts to twist at the top, paying extra attention to the head of him, sure to squeeze tightly on each downstroke.

Robin’s not quite sure what to do other than to hold onto her and take what she’s giving him. Regina is sitting sideways between his legs, one leg tucked under her and the other bent to keep the blanket tented around them to hide her movements. She wraps her left arm around his neck and slides closer to him, sucking hotly along his jawline and nipping at his ear while she works his length faster with fluid motions of her wrist. It feels so good, he’s rigid and hot under her soft fingers, her grip is perfect and her motions are just-bloody-right, smooth and practiced, not too rough but not too light either. It’s like she knows how much pressure he likes, and _\- god -_ he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to wank himself again after feeling the pleasure that is _her_ hand working over him. All he can think is that it’s going to be _so _disappointing to go back to his own calloused fingers after this, and he has to banish the thought before he gets really depressed about it.

“You’re so thick,” she says, lips against his ear, “Can barely get my fingers around you.” She makes this low hum in her throat and squeezes him in approval, then goes back to stroking. _Fuck _that’s good - so, so good. “Wish I could go down on you,” she sucks a line of kisses down his neck as her hand pumps him with several quick, shallow pumps that have him squirming, trying not to fuck up into her hand. “Wish I could run my tongue over you and taste you.”

He groans and cups her face so he can lead her to him for a kiss, unable to process her words without feeling the rush of heat in his belly, the anticipation of his orgasm building quickly with each pass of her fingers. He pulls roughly on her upper lip with his teeth, then pushes his tongue into her mouth, losing a little control as his breathing goes ragged with his arousal. “Are you wet for me?” his voice is full of gravel and deep, and he knows it’s much too forward for him to ask her this, knows that it might make her uneasy to tell him but he wants to know too badly to stop himself. “Are you hot and swollen and soaked for me? Gotta know, darling, _fuck -_ you’re so hot, want you so bad, do you want me too?”

Her hand stutters against him in surprise, but she covers it well and continues to wank him as precum leaks from his tip, clearly showing how close he’s getting, as if his overly rigid state wasn’t enough evidence. He doesn’t think she’s going to answer, and he’s alright with that, truly, but then she nods against him and whispers, “Yeah,” her nose bumping his, and he moans, slips his hand down and rubs between her legs in his boldest move yet. Regina sucks in a quick breath at his touch, her hips jerk toward him, and for a second he positively revels in the moist heat radiating from her. But then she pulls his hand up to her neck, and he stubbornly slides it back down to her breast, which earns him a huff from her - but _not _a protest - so he leaves his hand there and gives her a firm squeeze. Regina increases the movements of her hand until she’s working up and down his length rapidly, and his hips start a short, swift little rhythm to match her, his arousal skyrocketing with the increased sensations she’s creating.

“Close,” he rasps, flicking his thumb over the hard peak of her nipple, wishing he knew what it looked like, what it felt like, what it tasted like. _Christ, _he’s insatiable for her, so greedy. She moves her hand up to work his tip, twisting and pumping him with quick strokes and - _god - _he can feel the pressure building, can feel his orgasm starting.

Robin warns her, expecting her to pull her hand away so he can finish himself, but she doesn’t - instead, as he starts to spill she brings her other hand over and tells him to come, commands him, “Mm, come for me, right in my hands, baby.” So he makes a mess under the blanket, moaning quietly, relaxing into her touch and letting her finish him - _oh jesus_ \- like he’s never really had anyone finish him before, because she keeps stroking him and telling him how much she _wants it_, and _fuck_, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

When he’s finally spent, she cleans her hands with the napkins and wet wipes from the picnic basket, and when Robin tries to pull her onto his lap to return the favor, she resists, wiggles away from him and uses the excuse that it’s late and they should probably call it a night. Robin tries to argue without being pushy - he _really_ wants to touch her, wants to make her feel good, wants to deliver to her the incredible sensations she just gave him. He does his best to convince her, he tugs her close again and presses kisses to her neck and jaw, threads his fingers in her hair and tells her how much he wants to pleasure her in hopes that he can coax her into it. She almost goes for it, he can feel the way her body gravitates toward his, the way her fingers tighten in his shirt and how her chest rubs against his for a moment, but then she tells him she’s already gotten pleasure from touching him, and she doesn’t want to get caught - that she thinks they might have been overheard when she was touching him - which he _knows_ they weren’t - but she continues to beg off again and again until he gets frustrated and finally gives up on it.

At the conclusion of their date, Regina does, much to his relief, allow him to walk her home, which happens to be to a shoddy block of apartments in an even shoddier part of town. Robin knows he has no right to the opinion he generates about her place of residence, and while he doesn’t actually see her apartment, he positively _hates_ that she lives there. She should live in a mansion, some place with a gorgeous view, beautiful antique furniture and a perfectly landscaped yard. Someplace refined, someplace respectable. Someplace that does not have crackheads standing next to the entrance, catcalling her as she walks in, for fuck’s sake.

After he makes sure she gets into her apartment safely, he heads home without delay. Even _he_ is uncomfortable strolling through this neighborhood, and he shudders to think that she does this everyday, that this is what constitutes normal for her. As he readies for bed he makes a solemn vow that on their next date, he’s going to show her just how much he appreciates her, how much he likes her, and how much he wants to give her pleasure too, then Robin spends the rest of the night thinking about how he does _not_ deserve Regina Mills. She’s done nothing but give, and give, and give on every date he’s had with her, expecting nothing in return, and he’s never met someone so selfless in his entire life. Material goods, wealth, and status are obviously of no importance to her, all she seems to care about is making him feel incredible every chance she gets, and _christ,_ is she ever good at it.

The woman is obviously a bloody saint.

That night when he falls asleep it’s like his brain kicks into overdrive, and while he’s been dreaming of her, still having those vivid domestic scenes playing through his head almost every night, he hasn’t experienced anything quite like this. This time it’s the same scene, a torturous repetition of heartbreak, a loop that he wakes up _literally screaming_ from, covered in sweat, his pulse pounding, his face and chest flushed, his hands cramping from having been balled into tight fists where he had clutched at the sheets in pure desperation.

It’s not even a particularly _scary_ dream. It’s not a dream about terrible things happening to Roland, or about murderers cutting him up into pieces, or anything remotely considered terrifying to the average person. It shouldn’t frighten him at all, should not cause him to reach for his phone at four-thirty in the morning to type and delete a text message to Regina at least three times before he forces himself to set his phone back down without having sent her anything.

And yet…

It’s a simple dream. He’s standing with her in the middle of the road, holding tightly to her, their faces _so close_ as he kisses her, runs his fingers through her hair and starts to tell her that he loves her. But she cuts him off before he can say it - says that _she knows_ and then steps back from him as she pulls his hands away from her.

In the next moment, it’s as if he has no control of his body, and he’s moving away from her - he’s still holding her hand but he’s walking backward while she’s standing still, and he knows what’s coming, knows that when he takes his next step he’s going to lose her forever, he’s never going to lay eyes on her again, and he _can’t_ take it, he _cannot _allow that to happen. Regina looks devastated, she looks completely broken, and he’s dying inside, he _cannot _live without her, and Robin tries to hold onto her hand, clutches frantically to her, but no matter how hard he tries, her fingers slip through his grasp, and she dissolves in front of him while he screams her name, screams until his voice cracks, screams and screams and _screams_, until the dream suddenly starts over, and he goes through it all over again.

Bloody hell.

He has got to figure out what these dreams mean, and he’s got to figure it out soon. They’re so real, so tangible, that even though he rationally knows it’s just a silly metaphor, he could swear he can actually feel the ache in his chest from the heartbreak of losing her, which is totally impossible, because he hasn’t even been given the chance to love her yet.

Has he?


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning Advisory -   
for attempted sexual assault and references to previous sexual assault

** _ New York - September 1st, 2016 _ **

On Thursday evening Robin convinces her to go on another date with him, even though she’s still feeling overwhelmed from their picnic. She tries every trick in the book to get out of it, but he’s ready with an answer for everything, including what she thought was her ace - that he’s missing the evening with Roland. When she tries to use that excuse, Robin counters that his son is already set up for an evening playdate with one of his friends, and that he has arranged for the babysitter to pick him up and stay until Robin returns home, which the sitter isn’t expecting to be until later in the evening.

So, she gives in and agrees to the date, and of course, Robin uses the opportunity to take her horseback riding. Because he’s perfect. And wonderful. And so good, so _pure _that it almost hurts to look directly at him. She’s honestly surprised that she’s been able to be this close to him without her sinister presence infecting him too much.

She can see it starting though - she can see what she does to him when they’ve been together for too long, can see the way his gaze darkens, how his movements change from patient to possessive. She recognizes that this is her vile influence, not his - knows that he is a gentleman and that it’s _her_ nature that’s pulling that behavior out of him, and it’s only a matter of time now before he realizes that the way he feels when he is with her isn’t right.

To make matters worse, she’s still watching him. Still following him to and from work, still standing outside of his apartment at night, still staring at his window and checking the locks. It’s a habit she’s struggling with, an addiction, and she’s trying to break it, she’s even been able to cut down on the length of time she does it, but she hasn’t been able to stop it entirely, and she hates herself for it. If Robin catches her again she’ll have no excuse this time, and she is well aware that the violation of his trust is both heinous and unforgivable. But that nasty little voice in her head drives her out of her apartment over and over, it goads her into seeking him out, taunts her with all the terrible things that will happen to Robin and Roland if she is not there to watch over them, flashes gruesome images through her mind of the events that will transpire if she is not there to take the punishment in their place. So she goes, and she gladly interferes, she happily intercepts whatever evil lingers outside their door, because it is the one thing she is useful for. Evil is always attracted to more evil, and since she is it’s Queen, it’s only natural that it is drawn to her over them.

Three days ago Regina had been returning home after watching Robin drop Roland off at school when she was attacked. It was six-thirty in the morning and she was tired from having spent all night standing in the alley, her thoughts occupied by Robin’s innocent text asking her to go out with him on Thursday, and she wasn’t paying attention when she cut through a back alley that she knew was used for less than honorable dealings. She’d walked right into a bad situation - there were three men loitering there that smelled strongly of alcohol and cannabis, and upon becoming aware of her they immediately began harassing and circling around her, calling her derogatory names and telling her what profane things they’d like to do to her. Regina had attempted to walk past them - sometimes these idiots are all talk, out for the thrill of the scare, all mouth and no spine - but not these men.

Within the span of a few seconds they had her pinned up against the wall, and she was so used to taking her punishments by now that it had become a habit not to fight them. So Regina allowed it without a thought and let them hit her, let them black her eye, bruise her ribs, and split her lip. She even felt a little relief as the pain radiated across her cheek and up her head into her hairline. It served as a good reminder of the monster she is beneath the beautiful disguise, the monster that deserves to be beaten, whipped, and chained for the terrible deeds she’s done to those around her, and when they started messing with her clothes, started pulling at her shirt and pants, she knew what was coming, and unlike so many times in her past, she accepted it, decided that she wasn’t going to fight it. Regina spent most of her marriage being taken that way - with her husband’s hand wrapped punishingly around the back of her neck, his voice in her ear demanding, _Stop struggling, bitch, and thank your King for the opportunity to make him an heir_. She believed that she deserved to be treated this way more than ever now, what with how she had used her own sexuality to manipulate and control countless people over the years. She was no better than these men - in fact, she was infinitely worse - so what did it matter if they gave her a taste of her own medicine?

But the second one of them touched her bare skin, Robin’s face flashed before her eyes, and for the first time since leaving Storybrooke, she balked at the situation before her. Regina’s entire purpose of being in New York was to do whatever she could to ensure Robin’s happiness, and right now, she’s doing that by dating him. The thought struck her that he would be very upset when he saw the bruised state of her face, and if he learned that she’d been raped, or if she contracted some sort of sexually transmitted disease - or worse, if she gave _him_ that disease, possibly even an _incurable_ disease, _god_, he would be very, _very_ upset, and she could never forgive herself for doing that to him.

Before she knew it, she was fighting back, shoving the miscreants off of her with the unnatural power and speed she is graced with, fracturing their noses, arms, and legs - anything and everything - violently thrashing them into submission, unleashing her own despicable nature until she had thoroughly trounced them all. When she was through, they were all broken and bloodied, impotent forever now, curled up on the pavement in the dark alley, wriggling like worms and begging for mercy. They were pathetic adversaries, and it made her furious that they didn’t put up a better fight. If she had had her magic, she would have burned them alive.

But she doesn’t have her magic in this land, so she had left them there and gone home, had even stopped at the supermarket to buy herself some anti-inflammatories and an ice pack so she could put it on her face in an attempt to reduce the swelling. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to feel the pain, but because she didn’t want Robin to see it, didn’t want him to be upset by it. She came to the realization that she was going to have to be more careful about her punishments, that because he is _Robin_, he is going to care about her well-being - her pain will be _his_ pain, and she’s going to have to figure out ways to get around things like this until he understands what she is and why she deserves to be treated like this.

On the night of their date, Regina confirms that she was right to assume that Robin would be upset about her bruises. She tries to hide them, buys expensive makeup and wears her hair swept to that side to minimize their visibility, and she does an admirable job of covering the dark purple markings, but the second he lays eyes on her he notices it anyway. Her split lip is almost healed, and she uses a lipstick that matches well enough that she thought for sure he at least wouldn’t see _that_, but on second thought the idea that Robin wouldn’t pay rapt attention to her lips was absurd, and he notices the imperfection almost as quickly as he notices the bruising around her eye. He tries to cancel their horseback riding excursion, concerned that the jostling of the horses is too painful, but she assures him that it isn’t, that the bruises look much worse than they feel (he doesn’t know about the ones on her ribs), and after multiple rounds of convincing him that she’s completely fine, they’re finally astride the big animals, talking, smiling, and generally enjoying each other’s company.

She doesn’t tell him and doesn’t let on at all, but he’s right - the riding actually does hurt her bruises terribly. Regina is so grateful for it though, she’s so thankful for the reminder of what she is and why she’s doing this for Robin, that she savors the throbbing ache against her temple and sides. It grounds her, helps stop her from getting caught up in the romantic gesture of the perfect date Robin has set up to try to woo her. He doesn’t remember, but he has already wooed her, has already won her affection; he has all of her attention and every piece of what is left of that kind of love and lust within her. But they can’t do that anymore - she’s lost the privilege of ever having that. This relationship in New York is not actually a relationship, it is a temporary placeholder merely meant to give him what he wants while he wants it. It is not about spoiling her with silly impossibilities that she’ll never be worthy of.

When their allotted time is up with the horses, they return to the barn and Regina starts to dismount, but Robin gets down from his horse first and slides around to lend her a hand, even though she’s well practiced and obviously doesn’t need the help. He’s chivalrous and gentlemanly, and the lady in her (or what’s left of it) appreciates his gesture. As she takes his hand and slips down out of the saddle, he uses the opportunity to press a kiss to her lips, and she smiles against him - he’s been shamelessly flirting with her for the entire evening, and it’s the first moment they’ve had to get close like this.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, strokes her fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, and there’s something about this - she’s not sure if it’s the way he’s holding her up on her tiptoes with his arms wrapped so tightly around her, or if it’s the smell of leather, horses, hay and sweet feed lingering in the air, or if it’s just the tension between them, but it reminds her of the year they spent in the Enchanted Forest. It reminds her of their petty arguments around the meeting table, of their heated discussions in the dining hall, and of their full out screaming matches in the castle corridors that were brought to an abrupt end by him kissing her passionately, or by her slapping that devil-may-care look off of his handsome face - sometimes both. Regina presses closer to him and slides her tongue into his mouth, smoothing the muscle along his, teasing and stroking sensually, adding little flicks and swipes, humming softly and punctuating the kiss with a quiet smack of her lips before she finally pulls back to catch her breath.

“_What in the bloody hell…?_” Robin gasps, his brow furrowed, one hand coming up to rub over his eyes as he releases her and steps back, giving his head a little shake.

“Are you alright?” she asks, reaching for him. He doesn’t pull away, but when she tries to get his attention, she notices that eyes aren’t quite focused. “Robin?” she calls, “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” he whispers, “I… _christ_…” After several more seconds of staring off into space, he finally makes eye contact with her, then he reaches out and cups the side of her neck with his large, warm hand. “My apologies,” he says quietly, “No need to fret, I think I was just feeling a bit lightheaded from those kisses. Needed a moment to regain my footing, you understand.” His tone is teasing by the end of his excuse, and he presses a quick kiss to her lips as if to prove that he’s all better now, but Regina sees through him, knows that he’s hiding something by the way he drops his eyes when he tries to smile.

She doesn’t push him for an answer though; instead, she nods, accepting this for what it is. His heart is starting to feel the wrongness of her, is starting to recognize the corruption when she is pressed so tightly against him. This is the beginning of the end, and _oh,_ how quickly it came.

As they leave the stable, Robin asks her to come back to his apartment for a late dinner, which she accepts because she knows from the way he planned out the babysitter and the other evening activities, that he’s really hoping she will. When they arrive, the sitter has long since tucked Roland into bed, and the younger woman departs quickly, clutching the cash from Robin while discreetly giving Regina the once over on her way out the door. Robin checks on Roland, then joins her in the kitchen, and it takes an enormous amount of self-restraint for her not to ask if she can check on Roland too. God, what she would give to just be able to look through his bedroom door and see him tucked in, safe and soundly sleeping, not a care in the world with which to worry his curly head about. But that is definitely not something that she’d be doing in the best interest of Robin - indeed, it has the words “self-indulgence” written all over it, and that is precisely why she won’t ask him, no matter how much her black heart pines for it.

When they’re done with dinner there is an awkward moment where Regina expects him to invite her into the living room, and he looks like he’s going to - looks like he _really_ wants to, but then he hesitates and says, “I suppose that we should call it a night, yeah?”

“Oh.” The surprise is thick in her remark before she can stop it. Regina cringes, annoyed with her selfish expectations of him, and immediately corrects herself with a firm, “Yes, you’re right, I should go,” then she promptly turns and heads for the front door to collect her shoes.

“Wait, I - I don’t want you to go,” Robin calls after her.

Regina shakes her head and tells him, “No, I understand. It’s late, I really should get home.”

“It’s just that I…” he trails off as she slips one boot on, then the other. “Well, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Regina but…”

His words catch her attention, she bristles as she stands rigidly in his entryway and turns to face him. “You don’t want me to take _what_ the wrong way?” she asks, suddenly suspicious.

Robin rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head, then looks up at her through his long eyelashes, the perfect picture of masculine vulnerability.

“I can’t stand the thought of you going home in the dark on your own,” he mutters sheepishly.

Regina searches his eyes, which look positively beautiful in the low lamplight - bright blue and shining with honesty. It’s… distracting. She tries to ignore the pounding of her heart, tries to quell the intense wave of emotion that blooms in her chest over his concern for her, but her attempts are fruitless. She clears her throat uncomfortably.

“I go home on my own all the time,” she points out.

“I know,” he sighs, fidgeting. “But it’s already after nine, and the later the evening gets the more dangerous your trip becomes. I want you to stay, _christ_, I _really_ want you to stay, but I can’t walk you home tonight, because I can’t leave Roland, and after seeing what happened to you this week,” he gestures to the battered state of her face, “I’m afraid that when you leave you’ll get roughed up again, or worse. Your neighborhood is rubbish and if something were to happen to you… I’d never forgive myself.” He pauses, gives her that anguished puppy dog look that always makes her heart drop into her stomach, makes her want to hold him tightly to her and press kisses to his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. “God, I don’t want you to go, but I can’t possibly ask you to stay, darling.”

Well, if he feels he can’t ask her, then she’ll ask him. Problem solved. “May I stay a while longer?” she asks.

“Regina…” he hesitates, immediately catching on to her little game.

“Look, you want me to stay,” she drawls, reaching down to remove one boot. His eyes follow her movements but he doesn’t object. “And I want to stay,” she pulls off the other boot, and takes a slow step toward him. “So I think,” she takes another step, “It’s best if I stay.” Regina takes one more step to close the space between them, runs one hand up his chest to play with the buttons on his navy blue henley shirt, puts her lips to his ear without quite touching him and asks quietly, “Don’t you?”

His hands land on her hips, his fingers flexing before he squeezes her then - _oooh!_ \- tugs her body flush against his. Up until now, she has purposely taken control of their intimate encounters, making sure that the focus is on him and not her. But, when he reaches down, grabs the backs of her thighs and lifts her into his arms, she’s decidedly not in control.

Regina instinctively wraps her arms around his neck, her heart racing as Robin turns them and presses her back against the wall in the hallway, their faces tucked in close, noses bumping before he says, “Based on what I just said, I shouldn’t even be considering this.” He presses a quick kiss to her lips, then another, and _another,_ before he pulls back and adds, “So I’m afraid I can only agree, on one condition.”

She takes a moment to catch his eyes, to stroke her hands down his thick neck and over the broad, bunched muscles of his shoulders before she gives him a barely-there kiss, drops her voice low and says, “Name it.”

The second he bites on his bottom lip and breaks into that sexy smirk - the one that automatically makes her stomach flip and other areas clench - she knows she’s in _deep_ trouble. “You let me get you off.”

She opens her mouth to protest but can’t think of a reason why a normal person wouldn’t want that. _Shit_. So she leans forward and kisses him, because she can’t possibly agree - she knows from their history that there is no way she can let him do that and not feel anything less than _wonderful, _and since Regina doesn’t even deserve to feel _okay_, wonderful is certainly not allowed.

But - _oh no_ \- when Robin fits his body snugly against hers, tugging her legs further around his hips while he drops his mouth to her neck to suck hot, wet kisses down the column of her throat, she wants to say yes so badly that - _shit_ \- the word accidentally escapes from her lips in a breathy, “Yesss.”

That one word is all the encouragement he needs apparently, because he wastes no time pulling her away from the wall and carrying her straight to his bedroom with long, powerful strides. She’s caught somewhere between pure panic and carnal desire in the short time it takes him to lock his door, spin them toward his bed and climb in on top of her. Everything is moving so fast - their kisses are full of fervor, all teeth and tongue and desperate sucking pulls; their hands roaming in groping exploration, sliding under clothing, pausing only to unhook, unbuckle, and unzip; limbs tangling as they arch and rub against each other, chasing the spark that’s threatening to burst into a flame at any second. She pulls his shirt off and gets the fly of his jeans open before he takes control from her, using the weight of his body to block her access to his lower half while he presses hot kisses to her neck. Regina is completely wrapped up in him, unable to stop herself from reacting as Robin’s hands move over her, pulling her shirt up and off, then immediately going for her bra - plain black cotton with no lace, no push up, nothing remotely sexy, but with which he moans and stares at like a starved man before he takes it off of her.

And then - _oh no no no_ \- his mouth is on her chest, and she lets out a noise that is most definitely a _sob,_ a direct reflection of her horror and desire at how good it feels to have him touching her this way again. He hesitates at the sound but doesn’t stop; he cups both of her breasts and thumbs her nipples as he smoothly slides his other knee between her thighs, so that now his hips are cradled between them, his obvious erection pressing against her center - _oh god, oh she has to stop, feels so good, she **must stop**_ \- and when he drops his mouth and sucks on her nipple, she actually starts to cry.

They hadn’t bothered with the lights, so it’s blessedly dark in his room, and she’s able to hide her tears from him easily enough by holding her breath and driving her fingers into his hair, while pushing his head away from her breasts. She cannot think with his mouth there, but at her urging he moves south willingly, pressing kisses straight down the line of her stomach to her belly button, then tugging at her jeans and sliding them down an inch, then another inch - _oh no_ \- yet another inch before she can muster the will to stop him. And then it’s too late, he’s got her pants off and he’s crawling back up her body, kissing along the insides of her thighs like he’s completely obsessed with her legs - which he _is_ \- she knows, _god_, she knows - then licking along the smooth length of her bikini line, right above the waistband of her panties, and she shudders out a breath so hard it makes this gaspy whine in her throat that pulls his attention back up to her face.

She is certain she recognizes the fear overtake him before he does.

“I’m so sorry,” Robin says, immediately backing off of her, his hands coming up and away from her body as he scrambles to the far side of the bed, “I thought, oh god, I’m so sorry, _fuck_, I didn’t mean to assume, to, to pressure you, I, oh my god,” he stutters.

She stares at the ceiling fan in his bedroom for a moment, trying to put a cap on her self-loathing before she speaks - she can’t let him see it, can’t let him catch even a glimpse of it. Her evil, her vile nature he is entitled to freely witness - but if he sees how she hates herself, the hero in him will make him think he can fix her, and there is absolutely no fixing this mess that she is. As has been so appropriately pointed out to her, she made her choices, now she must reap the consequences of them.

She gets the tears to stop through sheer power of will, then holds her left hand out to him, which he tentatively takes. “Please,” she asks, her voice hoarse from emotion, “It’s not that - I want to, it’s just…” she rolls to her side but the pressure on her bruised ribs is painful and she flinches, hissing in reaction to it and trying to settle differently as she waits for him to rejoin her.

“Oh _bugger_,” he mutters, crawling back toward her, his eyes flicking from the oversized band aids covering up the brands on her forearm, to the large bruises on her ribs. “I had no idea you had other injuries, darling, _christ_, why didn’t you say something?”

It suddenly dawns on her that he’s mistaken the bandages on her arm for wounds she sustained during her recent attack, that he thinks she’s crying from the pain in her ribs, and just like that, she’s saved from having to explain that she’s actually a self-hating, evil, insane, monster who can only bring death and destruction to those she loves most. It might be the best thing that’s happened to her since she burned her own home to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling him closer, until he’s mostly on top of her again. “I didn’t want to complain when everything you were doing felt so good.”

Robin skates his fingertips lightly over the dark markings on her side, then slides down the bed to press whisper-soft kisses over the battered skin. Goosebumps raise as his breath hits her, her nipples pebble and she purses her lips as his mouth moves over every inch of the wounded area, then slowly further and further away from it until he works his way across her stomach to the other side.

“If you would be mine, I would never let anyone hurt you,” he says against her skin, his voice deep, low, and so, _so serious_. “I would never let anyone touch you that way again.” He kisses the underside of her breast and all along the full swell, then sucks softly at her nipple.

Regina threads her fingers through his hair and squeezes her eyes shut tight. He can’t talk like this, he can’t make promises. They can’t be together, she’ll ruin him. She’ll ruin _everything_.

“I would take care of you,” he promises, “You wouldn’t have to be afraid of the darkness, ever again.”

Her heart _shatters_ with his words. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying - he can’t understand what it means to her or how close they once were to just that. He can’t understand how he _almost _saved her from the darkness within, how he _almost _made her believe that she could have a happy ending, that she didn’t have to be a villain, she could change, could redeem herself; could be a mother, a lover, a friend, and a leader, that she could hope and dream and be heroically victorious with the rest. And he can’t understand how impossible that is now.

“I know,” she whispers, whimpering softly when he licks and sucks on her other nipple. “I know you would.”

Robin slides up the bed so their faces are close, and he presses a kiss to her lips. He continues to play with her breasts - stroking and kneading the thick flesh, pinching and teasing the tips into hard peaks while they trade slow, gentle kisses. After a few minutes his hand slides down the flat plane of her stomach and his fingertips play along the edge of her panties, clearly asking for permission. She doesn’t grant it - she can’t be responsible for that bad decision, and in pure Robin fashion, he doesn’t try to take what she doesn’t explicitly give. Instead, his hand follows the waistband of her underwear around to her hip, then smooths down the outside of her thigh to pull her leg up and over his as he scooches in close so they’re laying on their sides with their arms wrapped around one another, their bellies and chests touching, noses brushing, just breathing against each other in a painfully intimate embrace.

“Let me care for you?” he asks, his fingertips circling slow patterns on her back.

Regina swallows thickly. He’s not supposed to ask this, he’s supposed to have figured out that she’s _wrong._ That she’s despicable, corrupt, tainted. How can he not _see that_ by now?

“I can’t,” she breathes, “It’s not that simple, I’m not… good.”

He furrows his brow and studies her, but his fingers keep tracing that steady pattern on her back as he thinks things over. “I don’t care if it’s simple,” he says quietly, “And I don’t expect you to be anything but what you are.”

“God,” she drops her head forward to touch her forehead to his and shuts her eyes. He always knows the perfect things to say, always knows exactly how to counter her arguments, especially when it comes to her putting herself down.

“Let me,” he tries again, “Regina, I feel… when I’m with you I feel-”

“Please don’t,” she cuts him off, desperation growing in her chest. “Don’t say what you’re about to say, Robin. It’s wrong.”

“It isn’t,” he argues, shaking his head and having the audacity to smile at her. “I know that we got off to a bit of an unusual start, and our time together has been short, but every second I spend with you feels like -”

“Stop, this isn’t fair -” she begs.

“-like I’ve been missing you for ages,” he ignores her, continues, “Tell me you don’t feel the same way and I’ll drop it, honestly. But if you feel an ounce of what I feel when we’re together, then we owe it to ourselves to at least give this a shot. Because _christ_, if you do, I really think that our story could be epic.”

She doesn’t disagree with him, because she does feel the same way - she feels _exactly _the same way and _more_, so much more. But she can’t do this with him, she can’t let him walk back into this thinking she’s… worthy.

“I’m going to fuck this up, I’m going to hurt you,” she says bluntly.

“Then I’ll forgive you,” he smirks, flatting his hand against her back and stroking soothingly.

“I’m serious,” she hisses, annoyed, “I’m - you need to know that there’s something wrong with me. Everything I touch falls apart - if you get involved with me, it will do nothing but bring you suffering and ruin. I’m not a hero, Robin, I’m not _good,_ I don’t get a happy ending, and eventually, that’s going to catch up to me. So if you’re anywhere near me when that happens, you’re going to get hurt, and Roland too, and I can’t bear for that to happen - I can’t allow it, so we can’t do this, it’s wrong, I shouldn’t - I -”

“Shhh,” he quiets her, tugging her close and pressing his lips to hers. “Easy, it’s alright, darling, take a breath.” He smiles against her lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a pessimist?”

Regina’s mouth drops open in indignant annoyance. Does he not understand the gravity of what she’s saying? This is serious - _deadly _serious. But Robin just smiles before she can argue, presses a kiss to the tip of her nose and says, “While I would love to lay here all night and ponder your moral alignment with regards to good and evil, I think I’d rather worry about that when, and if, the time comes. For now, there’s nothing that would make me happier than seeing this crease,” he reaches up with his index finger and strokes it across the center of her forehead, “Disappear for a few minutes.”

“Why won’t you listen to what I’m saying? This isn’t a game, Robin, you’re going to get hurt, you’re going to regret this. Why are you insisting on acting like an idiot?” she snaps, then cringes, regretting her nasty tone.

“Mm,” he smirks, sliding his other hand down from her back to her ass and giving it a light swat. “Oh, I’m listening,” he says, “But from where I’m currently positioned, there is very little to regret.”

Regina groans, exasperated, and starts to sit up.

Robin laughs, then his expression turns bewildered as he tugs her leg tightly up over his hip and uses her movement to pull her up on top of him.

“My god woman, are you determined to talk yourself out of yet another orgasm?” he huffs impatiently, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties. “Or are you going to be quiet and let me work you over for once?”

Her eyes widen in a combination of frustration, fear, arousal, and complete annoyance. She taps her fingers nervously on his chest, knowing that she shouldn’t do this. _Everything _in her is telling her to run, to get the hell out of his room because the conversation they just had should _never_ have happened. She’s crossed way over the line of where this was supposed to go, and there’s no way she should let what’s about to happen, happen.

“Christ, you’re pretty,” Robin says quietly, dipping the tips of his fingers under the waistband of her panties and running them slowly around to meet in the front, then smoothly back to her hips. She shivers under his light touch, ticklish where he teases at the lines of her lower abs that curve up over her hips, and she spreads her fingers across the wide mass of his pectorals as she experimentally rocks her hips against him.

The movement feels as good as she knew it would.

Regina shifts up and shoves at his jeans, wanting fewer layers between them so she can better feel him against her. She misses those few blissful months they had when things were uncomplicated, when they had done this every single day, when they could barely keep their hands to themselves long enough to make it to an appropriate place before he was pushing her panties to the side and sliding up into her. She can even admit that there were several times that they _didn’t_ make it to an appropriate place, like the time he took her from behind while she kneeled in her desk chair at the office, praying that no one would walk through the unlocked door. Then there was that time he bent her over the hood of her car in the parking lot of the Rabbit Hole, right after she let him finger her in the booth while she sat across from David and Snow and did a terrible job of trying not to look smug as she came _twice_ on Robin’s fingers. Oh, and then there was that one morning that she pulled him into the bathroom at Granny’s Diner and made him eat her out before begging him to come inside of her, so she could go to work that day, full of his come.

_God, _she misses that.

Robin wiggles around under her, kicking his pants off quickly, then helps her settle back down so that her core is pressed against the hard length of him. She closes her eyes and loses herself for a second, lets herself think of the first time she rode him in her big, soft bed at the mansion, of how he stared up at her with that look of shock and reverence like he could not believe his good luck, like she was some sort of goddess, fallen from the skies to make his erotic dreams come true.

No one had ever looked at her like that before.

Regina is used to being admired for her looks. She grew up being stared at, lusted after, and on more than one occasion, obsessed over. She knows what she looks like and she’s used it mercilessly to her advantage through her many years. But the way Robin looked at her that night was different. It was pure, it was untainted, it was completely of his own opinion without any sway from her, and that alone had made her come so fast that it was almost embarrassing.

And he’s looking at her like that again, _right now_.

She’s infinitely grateful that they’re both still wearing their underwear. If they weren’t, she’s not sure she’d have the willpower not to rise up and slide down onto him right now. It’s been months and months without an orgasm for her - pure celibacy since their night in her vault - and, evil or not, every single pent up hormone in her body is currently screaming to be released. Regina takes a deep breath and tries not to think about how wet she is, about how her panties cling to her as she rocks her hips to rub herself on him, about how hard and tight her nipples are as they brush his chest when she leans forward to kiss him.

She presses herself tightly to him, settles her weight and leaves no space between them for him to get his hands anywhere particularly sensitive. She can do this, she can wait him out, she can grind on him until he’s so worked up he can’t think anymore, then she’ll play it up - she hates to do it, but she will - she’ll fake it, because she’s not allowed, not deserving enough to have a real orgasm, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that. He won’t understand her reasoning and even if he did, it would only cause him to get upset with her, and god, she just wants to make him happy. This entire situation is starting to get more and more out of her control; she has to get it back, and she has to get it back _now_.

Robin smooths his large, warm hands up her back and along her sides, clearly trying to find a way to touch her more intimately, but she stubbornly doesn’t give him one. After several minutes of this, of her trying to distract him by running her mouth and hands over him while she rocks against his clothed erection, he drops his hands heavily to the bed and huffs out an exasperated sigh.

“This doesn’t exactly feel like a _yes_,” he grumbles.

She pauses, brings her head up from where she’s been pressing kisses to his collarbone and plays dumb. “Hm?”

“Regina,” Robin tucks her hair behind her ear and fixes her with a knowing look, “This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I said I wanted to make you come - why won’t you let me touch you?”

Regina narrows her eyes. Jesus, he’s persistent.

“We’re literally touching from,” she makes a point to look down their bodies, “Knees to noses. How much more touching are you expecting?”

For the first time tonight, Robin looks a little annoyed. “Come now, you know what I mean. I just want to make you feel good, I don’t understand why you keep fighting me on it. Do you not want me to touch you?”

“It _does_ feel good,” she says obstinately, then she switches gears, presses kisses along his jawline and up to his ear where she whispers, “But you know what I really want to do?” She licks the shell of his ear, “You know what will really make me hot for you?”

Robin’s breath stutters and his hands slide down into the back of her panties to squeeze her ass. Sensing her impending victory, Regina hums low in her throat, rubs core against his rigid length, drags her nails across his ribs lightly and says, “I get so wet when I suck your cock.”

She’s just barely started her journey down his body when suddenly Robin sits up, and his movement shifts Regina so she’s sitting squarely in his lap, her knees spread wide on either side of his hips with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He tries to slip his hand between them again and she automatically pushes it away, directing it toward her ass instead, but he just places it back on her hip and shakes his head before he asks, “Will you please tell me what’s really going on? You said I could get you off, but you keep dodging my questions and pushing me away - it’s like you won’t allow yourself to enjoy our time together and I don’t understand it.”

Her temper flares. “I didn’t hear you complaining the other two times we fooled around,” she snaps, “I’m in your bed, practically naked, more than willing to put your dick in my mouth - forgive me for being a little confused as to why that’s not good enough tonight.”

Robin’s jaw drops, a surprised breath puffs out like she’s just slapped him, and she should probably be apologizing, but her temper is swiftly rising, and angry words are spilling from her lips before she has a chance to decide whether she should actually be saying them or not.

“You know, I’m trying so hard to protect you from - from - from _this_,” she gestures wildly, broadly indicating herself, “And you won’t even _try _to listen to me, all you can think about is getting your hands down my pants.” She shoves at his chest but he doesn’t let go of her, doesn’t let her off of his lap like she anticipated, and it only enrages her more. “Is that all that matters to you? Is that really all you want? Fine.”

She’s not proud of herself for what she does next - not at all. But she’s lost control of the situation, of her temper, of _everything_, and she’s panicking, having a complete meltdown because he’s not _listening_, he’s not _seeing her_, he doesn’t _believe_ her. So screw it. Regina grabs his hand and shoves it down the front of her panties.

Robin tries to pull his hand away but her grip on his wrist is tight, and she keeps him there, rises up, and rubs his fingers through her slick center as her other hand comes up to grasp his chin. “There,” she snarls, “That what you wanted? Go ahead, fuck me with your fingers if that’s what you want so badly.”

He’s gone stone still against her, his eyes are wide with shock and not even his chest is moving, like he’s holding his breath. “Regina, what the bloody hell are you doing?” he whispers.

“What am I doing?!” she laughs in disbelief, sarcasm thick in her tone as she drawls, “My dear, you’re much too old to pretend this is your first time.”

He doesn’t move - not a single muscle - and pure rage takes over her. She rips his hand away from her and pushes off of him, climbs out of his bed and starts gathering her clothes, pulling them on as quickly as possible.

“Wait, please, don’t go,” he says quickly, getting out of bed as she hooks her bra, then struggles to get her shirt flipped right side out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Can’t we just talk about this? There must be some sort of misunderstanding between us - all I wanted was to bring you a bit of pleasure, I didn’t mean to -”

“You seriously don’t know when to stop, do you?” she growls, zipping up her pants.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here,” he holds up his hands in defeat. “What’s so wrong with wanting to -”

“Everything,” she cuts him off, “Everything is wrong with it.”

“Why?!” he exclaims, his own frustration starting to show through.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Panic rises, there is bile in her throat, the walls are closing in, and she has to get out of here - _fast._ “I’m a reasonable bloke,” he argues, “Give me a chance to at least try.” Robin’s blue eyes are shining with honesty, with hope, and he’s so good, so pure, it physically hurts her to look at him. He moves toward her, murmuring sweet reassurances, urging her to trust him, completely unaware of the evil he’s stubbornly trying to get himself involved with as he reaches for her and cups the sides of her face in that kind, gentle way of his, and asks her again not to go.

But his innocent touch against her serpentine skin is a mistake - it unleashes the monster within her, allowing it to lash out like it always does - attacking, consuming, and polluting everything around her in a tempest of violence and despair.

She slaps his hands away, snarls, “Get your fucking hands off of me,” then shoves past him and runs out of his apartment. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t cast a backward glance, doesn’t break her stride for a second - not even when she hears him calling after her down the corridor, and especially not when she hears his voice break on the second syllable of her name. She has to get out of here - _fuck - _she has to go; her depraved soul can’t accept his benevolence toward her, the situation is too much to bear, her body is rejecting the concept and she feels like her skin is too tight, it’s going to rupture from the built up frustration that’s trying to work it’s way out of her.

Regina doesn’t stop running until she gets home, until she is securely locked behind the grimey door of her shitty apartment, in the lousy neighborhood Robin was so nervous about her walking through earlier tonight. She wishes now that he had let her go then, that he’d let her walk home and she’d gotten jumped and abused liked she has on so many other nights. The pain from that surely would have been less than what she’s feeling right now, knowing that she’s just hurt him when he’s done nothing wrong. It’s just like Henry said - she is _so selfish_ \- she’s hurt Robin, and she hasn’t done it because it was in his best interest, she’s done it because she’s this _thing_, this monster, who never should have gotten close enough for him to develop feelings for her in the first place. But she did get close - she got very, _very_ close - she just couldn’t stay away from Robin, because she is weak, and she is needy, and above all else, she is _selfish._

This was supposed to be temporary - she never intended for Robin to actually fall for her. He was supposed to get a little of his confidence back, supposed to strut around with a pretty woman on his arm for a few dates, supposed to let her get him off as many times as possible and then realize she’s nothing more substantial than that - a cheap date and a willing lay. But she forgot, or more likely, she ignored the fact that he isn’t just any man off the street who can hit it and quit it and move on to the next woman without a second thought.

This is Robin Hood, _the_ Robin Hood, and he was never going to treat her that way. Not in a million years. Not _her _Robin.

So, because she hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t planned for him to keep pushing her to let him treat her the way he did when she once allowed him to love her, she intentionally fucked it up. His persistence in needing to act like this relationship is an _actual_ relationship, as if this is just like what they had in Storybrooke before her entire life fell apart, absolutely _terrified_ her. Tonight she had panicked and in doing so, she hurt him in the worst of ways - she attacked his character and his intentions, and then she ran like a damned coward, because she can’t bear to face him in the aftermath of her terrible behavior.

It’s been two hours since she left - he’s called her three times and left her four texts, but she hasn’t answered any of them. She already knows what he’ll say if she picks up his calls, and she can’t stop her tears or steady her hands long enough to read his messages. Because even though she always knew this would end, she’s _selfishly _not ready to hear him say that he’s done with her - not yet. She’ll die right now if she hears him say those words, and she promised Granny that she wouldn’t. She _promised_.

So Regina shuts her phone off and lays in bed with the covers pulled up to her eyes, with all the lights off in her apartment, listening to the sounds of the city and tracing the brands on her arm with one fingertip, wondering if she deserves another scar for today. Eventually she decides that she doesn’t - that the sharp ache in her chest where her heart is clearly broken is enough pain for now, and if she needs a better reminder later, she can always add the brand then. But she sincerely doubts she’ll forget it, because she’s certain that this pain will never go away, this heartbreak will never heal, and she will never know what it feels like to be loved by him again.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning Advisory-  
for degradation, humiliation, and domestic violence situations

** _ Storybrooke - December 3, 2015 _ **

He has it, she knows he has it, and she knows he’s not just going to hand it over.

He never gives anything away for free, it’s _always_ a deal - and she’s lucky that he just so happens to be in a position to bargain with her. He’s lost his sweet, naive bookworm over his lust for power once again, the fool, and knowing Rumple, he’s already concocted some wicked plan to win her back. Belle is beyond stubborn and her judgement is obviously questionable, so Regina knows that his task won’t be easy. If she was anyone else, she’d shudder just thinking of what he might do to get his way, of the terrible lengths he’s willing to go to get Belle back under his control, but he doesn’t scare her, not anymore. She’s long since broken free from the fear he once used so effectively to turn her into his marionette, and in any case, his desperation to convince Belle of his love for her is nothing compared to what Regina will do for Henry.

She pushes her way into the dimly lit pawn shop just before closing time, glad to find it empty of other patrons. It’s imperative that they make their deal away from prying eyes - she doesn’t know what Gold will ask of her in return for what she wants, but she’s certain the price will be high, and if their previous transactions are any indication of what he might request, it’s not something she’d like others to witness.

“Ah, Regina,” he says in that smooth, amused tone from behind the glass case in the back of the shop. “To what do I owe the pleasure this evening?”

She steels herself, straightens her spine but knows better than to look _too_ serious - he’ll catch on to just how much she needs his help, and while he most definitely will figure her out before they make their deal, she wants to get as much information as possible out of him before that happens. “It’s been a while, Rumple,” she drawls, running her fingers along a dusty shelf and feigning interest in a few of the objects displayed. “Maybe I missed you.”

He laughs quietly, his tone full of disbelief as he leans forward and puts both palms on the counter in front of him. “Still playing games, I see. Why don’t you tell me what it is you want, and we’ll start from there?”

“Mm,” she hums, low in her throat and continues to circle the little shop, taking her time, trying to put him on edge. Rumple is anything but patient, and she’ll play on it as long as she can. Hopefully he’ll get frustrated and make a mistake. “There are many things I want, my dear, I’m afraid narrowing that list is a larger task than you realize.”

Gold sighs and drops his head, tapping his fingers on the glass for a moment before fixing her with a calculating look. “I hear you’ve made quite the mess of things with my grandson recently. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t been able to slither your way back into his good graces by now. Or could it be that you’ve finally crossed the line of no return? Perhaps he’s finally seeing you for what you really are?”

His completely casual tone regarding her total heartbreak cuts deeply, just like he knew it would, and she pauses in her perusal of his shop. “I’m sure it’s no more of a mess than that you’ve made with your precious librarian,” she drags her eyes slowly up to meet his, and they stare at one another for a tense moment before Rumple shrugs.

“Aye,” he admits, “It seems that Belle still doesn’t quite understand the value of dark magic, such as ours.” His expression is nothing short of disappointed.

“Nor will she,” Regina jibes, “No one does, Rumple, no one else can,” she stalks slowly toward him, letting her hips sway a little more than usual, _very_ aware of the way his eyes drop to watch her strut. He’s always had an obsession with her body - she’s used her sexuality to get what she wanted from him before, and she’ll use it today if she has to, no matter how much it makes her stomach churn.

She’s dressed entirely in black to play to his dark nature, put on over-the-knee high heeled boots, tights, a short, skin tight dress with a teasing, inappropriate neckline and lace push-up bustier beneath to accentuate it. Before she came into the shop, she unbuttoned her wool overcoat to give him a good view of the outfit, and she pulled her raven hair up into an elegant twist to show off the long, creamy lines of her neck. It’s with an odd combination of self-hatred and satisfaction that in spite of the desolation she has felt for every second of the past several weeks, she’s managed to actually look damn good tonight. It’s a shame she’s wasting it on Rumpelstiltskin.

“True,” his eyes linger on her chest for much longer than is polite, then sweep up to her eyes, “But I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, it’s not,” she says, flipping open the lid of a small, gold-trimmed wooden box on a shelf to her left and peering inside, then closing it and continuing, “Nor do I particularly care,” she smirks. “But I just thought you might enjoy a few minutes of conversation with someone who understands the difference between reading about magic and what it takes to actually wield it.”

Rumple gives her that approving look she used to long for when she was his student, the one that told her she finally got something right for once, and that he was pleased with her performance. But her heart doesn’t leap with excitement, her cheeks don’t flush with pride like they once did - his satisfaction doesn’t mean shit to her anymore. She smiles anyway, plays along like the good little girl she used to be, and when Rumple waves his hand, two full goblets of wine appear on the display case in front of him.

“Well if it truly is conversation you crave, Your Majesty,” he looks her up and down again, “Then by all means, join me for a drink.”

Regina approaches and accepts the glass of wine, curious if he’s poisoned it but mostly sure he hasn’t. She doesn’t bother with a detection spell before she takes a sip, which earns her quite the eyebrow raise from Rumple, but honestly, if he wanted to poison her at this point, she’s not really sure that would be such a terrible thing. She’s certain that no one would object if she suddenly fell gravely ill, or really, if she dropped dead right here - there’s an entire town full of people outside this pawn shop who already think she deserves it, and she’s starting to believe she does too.

The wine isn’t poisoned however, and they make careful conversation as they drink it, both sure not to give away anything the other might use against them. Their relationship has always been odd, and tonight is no different as they speak in parallels and euphemisms, all the while maintaining a strangely civil atmosphere that eventually winds up circling back to Regina’s troubles at home.

“So, playing the hero isn’t quite working out for you, is it dearie?” Rumple asks, as he magically refills her glass of wine.

“Not exactly,” she nods, leaning forward to brace on her elbows on the counter, strumming her painted nails in a slow, staccato rhythm across the hard surface. “It turns out that even when I do the right things, they’re the wrong things, simply because _I’m _the one doing them.”

“Ah,” Rumple snickers, “Well, I never believed you were cut out for heroism in the first place.”

Regina narrows her eyes. “Oh?”

“Of course not,” he taunts, poking her in the chest with two fingers. “I know what evil lies within you, Regina, I know how deep the darkness stretches into that shriveled up heart of yours. It’s why I chose you to be my student - I would never have picked a _hero_, that would have backfired in an instant. I needed someone who was irreparably deviant.”

She nods, trying not to let his words about her tarnished heart affect her, though deep down she’s suspected this before - that she’s damaged beyond repair, and no matter how hard she tries, she’ll never be able to conquer her darkness.

They pause for a moment, Rumple takes a long sip of his wine, then asks, “Now, the evening is getting late, and my patience is running short. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what Machiavellian scheme you’ve crafted that’s required you to share such a lengthy amount of time in my company?”

“There’s no scheme,” she tells him, “I’m simply in the market for a potion.”

“It must be quite unique if you’re asking me for it,” he observes, “There are very few potions you can’t brew yourself, Your Majesty.”

Regina takes a sip of her wine. “That’s mostly accurate,” she agrees. “This I can brew, but not quite in the way I require. What I’m looking for is a pure extract of Forgetting Potion.”

“Now what would you be needing with a concentrated dose of that?” Rumple asks curiously, shooting her an amused gaze over the top of his glass. “Looking to make yourself forget a few of the nastier things you’ve done throughout the years?” he guesses.

“Something like that,” she concedes, though in reality, it’s _nothing_ close to the truth.

In truth, Regina’s plan is the exact opposite of that. She can’t stand to see her son so conflicted over this situation they’re in. Every time she sees him he looks upset and defeated, he looks so, so sad. Henry won’t speak with her - he’s stubbornly holding his ground on his demand for her to come clean about her status as a villain, and she can clearly see that she’s hurting him more and more with every day that passes without her false confession. So, she’s decided that if she can’t convince him of her innocence by Christmas, that if she can’t help him see that she isn’t a villain, that she truly isn’t this monster that he sincerely thinks that she is, she’ll erase his memories of her completely, so that he doesn’t have to suffer anymore.

The only caveat is that in order to do that, she’ll have to erase the _entire town’s_ memories of her - she’ll have to wipe her existence from the minds of every single living soul in Storybrooke, so that her sweet little boy won’t have to endure this pain, this disappointment, this _betrayal _in his heart. It will cost her everything - she will end up with no family, no friends - everyone she knows and loves will consider her a complete stranger - all the things she has worked so hard for will be stripped away from her. Henry will know nothing of her - he will remember no birthdays with just the two of them splitting a giant cupcake, no bedtime stories she read to him so many times she can still recite them by heart, no marking his height on the door frame on his first day of school . But if she has to break their bond, if she has to take away every memory of their time together in order to remove the pain she can see in his eyes, it is a price she will pay, because he is _everything _to her, he is her _son_, and she will protect him. She will do everything in her power to give him happiness, even if it shreds every cell in her body to do it.

“I happen to have the extract you’re looking for,” Rumple tells her, “But it’ll cost you, of course.”

Regina rolls her eyes and straightens up from the counter, but lets her fingertip trail slowly around the rim of her goblet. “Is there something specific that I can offer you, Rumple?” She’s starting to feel uneasy, starting to get that familiar, nasty feeling that crawls up her spine when he’s planning something particularly horrid for her. Rumpelstiltskin has taken terrible advantage of her before, has asked her to do things she’s not proud of, and she’s done things for him - _awful things, _degrading things - that took her years to get over.

“There’s _always _something,” he snickers. “Why don’t you come around here so I can see you a little better, dearie? It’s obvious you’ve gotten all dressed up for me tonight, haven’t you?”

She does her best to give him a sly smile, to pout her lips for him as she slips around the counter. There was a time when they did this, when he used to touch her and use her and take her however he wanted, because he was her teacher and she was an eager student, willing to learn and to please by giving him whatever he wished. She was young then, so naive, and on more than one occasion she foolishly found herself at the wrong end of a deal that had left her sore, brutalized, or humiliated, but most importantly had left her certain to pay better attention to the exact terms of their agreements from that point forward.

“I have the potion and I’ll let you have it,” he says quietly as she steps up to him. “But first,” he reaches out and slides his fingers under the collar of her coat. She lets him shift it back, and it slips from her shoulders, catches at her elbows, and at the expectant tilt of his head, she straightens her arms and lets it pool at her feet, “You’re going to ask me politely for it.”

She could vomit.

But she won’t.

“Please, may I have the potion?” She starts, knowing that it won’t be enough, but unwilling to give him anything more than what he specifically demands. She learned the hard way, long ago, that he’ll take whatever she gives him, and much, much more if he can.

Rumple frowns, “Oh, that’s simply not what I meant. You won’t be getting anything from me just by pouting those pretty lips and giving me those bedroom eyes like you used to.” He looks her over and she can see the wheels turning. “No, it’s not your body I want anymore, Regina - though I will admit, you haven’t lost any of your appeal over the years, now have you.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it makes her feel queasy. She’d much prefer he wanted to fuck her than whatever the hell else he wants - Regina knows how to deal with trading her body as currency - knows how to shut herself off and compartmentalize, knows how to make sense of what’s happening to her and how to make herself go numb. Whatever else Rumple wants her to do is undoubtedly going to be worse, and she resists the urge to cringe, though her heart hammers wildly in her chest.

“Well, then how would you like me to ask?” she snaps, wanting to get this over with.

A slow, spiteful smile spreads across Rumpelstiltskin's face, and he wraps his fingers tightly around her jaw as he instructs, “Get on your hands and knees, and beg me for it.”

Regina swallows nervously. “What good could my getting dust all over my dress possibly do, when I could just as easily sit in your lap and ask you?” she counters, reaching for his tie and tugging, then stroking her hand down the length of it suggestively.

“I’ve already told you, dearie, I’m not interested in Her Majesty’s cunt this evening, I’m interested in something that’s seen a little less use,” he has the indecency to smirk knowingly at her. “No, I think I’ll have a turn with your dignity, tonight,” he accentuates his sentence with an arrogant nod of his head that makes Regina’s teeth clench. “So, get on the floor, kiss my boots like an obedient little bint, and beg me for what you need.”

Regina forces herself to breathe slowly through her nose. What he’s asking her to do is completely _humiliating_. She has worked incredibly hard to stand where she is today, to be independent and _almost _proud of who she is. She is finally free of her psychotic, abusive mother, free of her ignorant, entitled husband, free of the Dark One, she’s even free of her terrible reign as the Evil Queen. Regina has sacrificed, she has suffered, she has given all that she has in order to turn her life around; she has torn herself apart and devoted every second to rebuilding herself from the inside out, piece by painful piece, to get to where she is today. She needs to show this to Henry, to help him see the hard work she’s done to get to this point, because somehow he doesn’t see it, he doesn’t recognize it, and jesus, she’s willing to try anything to get him to understand - but she’s not sure she can do this.

The idea that she should get down on the floor and beg like a dog from _Rumpelstiltskin_, a man who has never done anything but take the easy way out, a man who constantly preys on the weak, takes advantage of everyone, and does nothing but feed his own, selfish agenda, is absolutely sickening. It makes her lightheaded, makes her want to scream, makes her want to murder him where he stands. But she needs that extract, she needs it for Henry because she cannot get it anywhere else, and if she can’t think of a way to talk Rumple out of this, god, she might actually have to do it.

“If it’s overuse that concerns you,” she drawls, forcing herself to sound nonchalant, “There are other areas of my body from which you can seek pleasure that I can assure you have seen far less use than my _cunt_, Rumple.” Regina drags her teeth roughly across her bottom lip, then smooths her hands down her stomach and over her hips, traces the full, round curve of her ass and back, clearly indicating what she’s willing to give him, in exchange for not having to beg on her knees.

“As enticing as that does sound,” Rumple watches her hands with interest, and she has a flicker of hope that is just as quickly snuffed out. “I’ve had your arse before Regina – you honestly can’t expect me to pass up this rare opportunity to take your pride, can you? What kind of Dark One would I be if I didn’t take what was ripe for the picking?”

“Come now Rumple, be reasonable,” she coos, sliding her hands over his waist, “You know what a good sport I can be.” God, she hates what she’s doing, hates that she has to resort to this, hates _herself_.

“Yes, I do,” Rumple runs his fingers lightly along the exposed skin of her neck, and a shiver skates down her spine in response - not of arousal – of disgust. He drops his lips to brush against her ear as he speaks, “So _be _a good sport, dearie,” he whispers, menacingly, “And get on your fucking knees.”

Regina doesn’t have an ace up her sleeve like she usually does. She doesn’t have a plan B, or a hero to come and save her from the consequences of the choice in front of her. If she wants the extract, there truly is nothing she can do in this moment but give the Dark One what he wants. With that realization, she pictures her son’s face in her mind, sets her jaw, and slowly sinks to the floor.

Her knees pop on the way down, and it’s yet another, cruel reminder that she’s not twenty anymore, that she’s much too old to be groveling in the dirt once again. She should be _better_ by now, she should be strong and powerful, _she_ should have the control. Regina thinks of how heroes always find a way to overcome situations like this - they always find a way to escape without a scratch, needing nothing but a wing and a prayer, but how time and time again, the opposite always seems to happen for her. It’s getting hard to ignore the mounting evidence against her, the evidence that says she obviously isn’t a hero, especially with her heart so freshly broken from not just Henry, but from the loss of Robin and Roland too. Oh, how easy it has been for everyone who once told her they loved her, to simply turn their backs.

The floor is filthy, and it makes her curl her lip in disgust as she shifts around to get into an appropriately submissive position, sitting back on her heels with her hands on her knees, her head tipped down as she tries to fight back the shaking humiliation that rushes through her chest. Her hands are trembling, though she doesn’t know if it’s from frustration, loathing, or disappointment - perhaps a combination of all of those things. Her eyes burn, they sting and she closes them before they feel wet, trying to stave off the impending tears, because she doesn’t want him to see the effect he’s having on her, though she knows he is well aware of it anyway. She wants to speak - to go ahead and _beg_, just so she can get this over with, but her jaw is locked, her teeth clenched together, and she can feel the veins standing out in her forehead as she struggles to control herself, to keep her shame wound up in a tight little ball in her chest where Rumpelstiltskin can’t pull it apart and make this more mortifying than it already is.

“Please, may I have the extract, Dark One,” Regina asks quietly, her voice a rough, broken whisper in the quiet pawn shop. She sounds alien, sounds nothing like the Queen, the Mayor, or even the Mother she once was.

“No.”

Her entire body quakes as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly and tips forward onto her hands. She can’t look at him, can’t think about what she’s doing or she’ll die from shame as she crawls forward on her hands and knees like a pathetic, useless animal, and asks again, “Please, _please_, Dark One, I am nothing, I am worthless without you, please, I beg of you, may I have the extract?”

Her voice breaks in the middle of her pleading, and her chest _aches_ with the force it takes her to hold back her anguished scream of pure humiliation when he tells her, “Bend down and kiss my boots, Queenie, and I’ll consider it.”

It takes her a moment to gather herself. She stares at the fine leather shoes before her, thinking of her son, thinking of the grievous sins she’s committed in her lifetime, and of all the things she’s done to try to make up for them. Briefly, she wonders why none of her other sacrifices, why none of her suffering up to this point seems to matter, but then something strange inside of her clicks - it’s that concept of heroism, or her apparent _lack _of it - and something starts to fracture inside of her. It’s not her heart - that’s already been broken - it’s something else, her sanity perhaps. Little cracks form, spreading and branching outward in the way glass is shattered, and she loses control; she starts to cry, the tears drip from her face onto the dusty floor and the shoes she’s supposed to kiss. She doesn’t make a sound but her mouth is open in a silent scream, saliva pooling and dripping as she curls in on herself, hands fisting in her skirt, stomach clenched, spine bent; she vibrates with humiliation and despair and grief over what she has become, and over what she has lost, and something deep within her soul _shifts_.

Then finally, _finally _she gives in, bending forward slowly, needing this over with, needing it to _stop_. She presses her lips to the leather, and Gold _giggles_ with satisfaction, the pitch of his voice higher than usual and the pace rhythmic, nearly sing-song, as he asks her, “Now let’s try a-gain - tell me, dearie, what do ya’need the potion for?”

Regina can’t afford to lie to him or to evade his question any longer. Rumple will drag this out for days if she continues to play games with him, and she’s already cracking under the strain of what he’s doing to her. So she grits her teeth and uses the last of her courage to meet his eyes, while hot tears drag black mascara down her cheeks, and she clenches her hands so tightly that her nails bite into her palms and draw blood. “I need it to give my son a better life, a life where he’s happy, and surrounded only by light.”

For some reason, Rumpelstiltskin seems to find particular amusement in her answer, and he continues his game of humiliation with Regina long into the evening, taunting and abusing her until she’s a mere shadow of the woman she was when she walked into his shop. She supposes she’s lucky in the end that he holds true to his word, because he does give her the extract of the Forgetting Potion, though whether it was actually worth the price she paid is something she may never be able to decide. And, to add insult to injury, just before he lets her have it, he adds one last condition to their deal - she must capture Belle for him, and lock her back up in the asylum.

Regina doesn’t even think to argue with Gold about it. She’s so relieved to get off of her knees at that point - to tuck her tail and run - that she just agrees to his terms so she can get out the door of the pawn shop as fast as possible. She hates herself too much, is too ashamed, too distressed by what has just happened that she isn’t thinking clearly and she’s not in any state to make good decisions. So, she does the only thing she _is _capable of, which is to pocket her potion and immediately go in search of the damned bookworm, so she can be done with this “deal” once and for all.

It is because she’s so distraught that Regina is completely unaware of Emma Swan’s presence in the back room of the pawn shop. Emma had entered well before Regina had been brought to her knees, but thanks to Gold’s security spells, she had instantly been frozen in motion. The second that Regina stumbles out of the shop, Rumple releases the blonde from her confines, and he spends the next ten minutes making a deal with the Savior, successfully bartering for her silence and her vow not to interfere with this little matter, before he sends her on her way.

* * *

** _ Storybrook - December 6, 2015 _ **

It’s late in the evening, they’re standing in their bedroom and Robin doesn’t want to argue with her, but he’s quickly reaching the end of his rope.

“Marian, please, be reasonable,” he tries, reaching out tentatively to stroke her shoulder. She softens under his touch but her dark eyes stay sharp, and he’s under no impression that he’s convinced her. “Roland and I have spent the last two Christmasses thinking you were dead, how can you possibly not want to spend this one together?”

“I’ve already told you that this is important,” she argues, stepping in close and brushing her hands across the tops of his shoulders, straightening out the fabric. “We’re supposed to be starting over here, I’m trying to learn how things work in this realm, and you should too. From what I’ve been told, this is normal for many people - expected, even, especially those in our financial situation. Don’t make this about something it’s not.” There is a waspish edge to her tone that removes any sweetness that might have otherwise been inferred.

Robin bristles with her implication, the recent arguments they’ve had about their lack of intimacy clearly what she’s hinting at, and he certainly doesn’t appreciate her little jab at money, either. Regina had given them more than enough to get started with in New York, but right from the start, Marian had been ridiculous with her spending habits, blowing through the large stack of cash that was supposed to be their long term savings within the first few weeks of them being here, forcing them to both look for extra work in order to make ends meet and pay for the expensive furniture, clothing, and other costs of living that Marian seems so intent on having.

Robin tries his best not to shy away from her touch, tries to be happy that at least this time she’s touching him in a way that feels comforting and not overtly sexual (a rarity from her usual blatant grabs at him that he’s come to dread as of late). “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m not trying to make this about anything other than wanting to spend the holiday together. It’s been so long since we’ve had a happy Christmas as a family, and I miss that.”

This isn’t exactly the holiday season he had envisioned for Roland and himself, and his heart aches for what he knows he’s missing, for what he craves, for what he’s dying for a little more every day that he must go without. He misses Henry, and he misses Regina, misses her _desperately -_ but he knows better than to mention them, than to mention anything at all about Storybrooke. But it doesn’t mean that Robin doesn’t think about them, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t pine for Regina every second of every minute of every hour - _no_, it doesn’t mean that at all. Robin feels like being apart from her is killing him, like it is draining the energy from his body, siphoning the love, lust, and tenderness out of his heart so that there is nothing left for the woman in front of him, and there doesn’t seem to be a bloody thing he can do about it. For no matter how he tries to redirect the thoughts of his lovely Queen to the woman he vowed to honor, cherish, and love until death do they part (_again?)_, he can conjure none of those feelings for the woman he calls his _wife_.

He only brought up his time in Storybrooke once - he thought it might be good for them to talk about it, thought it might be beneficial to be open about his experiences there and that it might bring them closer if he was honest with Marian about it all. So, he had taken a chance and tried to confide his heartache over their strange situation to her, to tell her how lost he was feeling, how he was having a difficult time readjusting to her being back in his life. But, in spite of the fact that she already knew about his encounter in the vault with Regina, Marian had started screeching about how he had been unfaithful to her, accused him of breaking his wedding vows and being a terrible person, then she had started hurling dinner plates at him, which had resulted in scaring the living daylights out of Roland, so he’d grabbed his boy in a moment of fear and bolted from the apartment. It had been a terrifying experience for all of them, but Marian had apologized and promised it would never happen again. Only, she’s lost her temper on multiple occasions since, and Robin’s mistrust in her has continued to grow with each passing day, to the point now that Robin refuses to leave their son alone with her _at all_, for fear that she might lose control and hurt the lad, though she tends to completely ignore him or generally forget he exists more than anything else.

“Well, we wouldn’t have missed _any_ Christmasses if it hadn’t been for _her_,” Marian snaps, “And if she’d actually cared to give us a _real_ start, she’d have made sure we at least had enough money to make it through the New Year, now wouldn’t she?” His wife looks smug and victorious as she stalks across their bedroom to grab a handful of hangers from their closet, which she tosses onto the bed, then starts unpacking several bags of designer clothes she purchased earlier in the day.

Robin fights down his natural instinct to defend Regina, knowing he can’t, that if he says anything in her defense that it will only make things worse. Instead, he grits his teeth in annoyance as Marian starts to put her new, expensive clothes on the hangers, and tries to change the direction of the conversation. “You went shopping?”

She shoots him a glare that says, “Duh,” so he asks, “Were you able to pick up Roland’s Christmas gifts while you were out today?”

Marian scowls, shoves her clothes into their closet and rounds on him, her dark eyes narrowed in irritation. “No, I told you - money is tight. Which is exactly why I have to go to work on Christmas.”

“You…” he pauses in disbelief, looking over the discarded shopping bags. “You didn’t get our son’s gifts, but you had money enough to spend at what? Four different clothing stores?”

“At least I’m trying,” she shoots back, motioning to his worn jeans and hoodie. “At least I try to look nice for you. After all, that is what you want, isn’t it? Don’t pretend that this isn’t how _she_ got your attention - I’m not a fool, Robin.”

Robin opens his mouth to object, to tell her that the way Regina dresses has _nothing_ to do with his falling in love with her, but he drops his eyes instead and fidgets for a moment while he tries to come up with a suitable response.

“You don’t have to dress up for me,” he attempts. “Marian, we’ve been married for fifteen years, that’s not - this isn’t - our issues don’t have anything to do with her.” It’s a lie, and the second it comes out of his mouth, he knows he should take it back, should correct himself, should apologize, because their issues have _everything_ to do with Regina, and they both know it.

“What was that?” Marian says coldly, curling her lip. “Did I just hear you make excuses for your behavior? Did you just lie about the reason my own husband can’t bear to make love to me?” Her eyes water, and he wishes he could say they fill with tears, but it’s not that - not really. They water with anger, with hatred, and he despises himself for putting her in this position, for the fact that he hasn’t been able to touch her in the way a man is supposed to want to touch his wife. It’s just that every time he tries, he feels wrong, he feels filthy; he thinks of Regina and feels like he’s betraying _her_, he feels like he’s cheating on _her_, and the whole situation is so fucked up, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“I just, I’m trying, but I’ve told you, I can’t just shut off my feelings for her, I can’t just pretend like I didn’t have a relationship with her. You were dead - “

“Because she murdered me!” Marian shrieks, her tone bordering on hysterical, her dark brown eyes going wide as she tugs her thick, coarse brown hair up into a ponytail..

“Yes! Alright?” he admits for the first time ever. “Some version of her, in some other time, was responsible for your death - but the woman I know, she would never hurt anyone without purpose. She changed, she worked so hard to redeem herself - she was full of love and kindness, she was beautiful on the inside, broken but piecing herself back together, she was -”

_Smack!_

Marian slaps Robin’s face so hard that his ears ring, and his head snaps to the side as she launches into a fit of temper, shoving him into the dresser behind him, clawing at his chest and screaming in his face about what a_ worthless fucking man_ he is, how he’s _betrayed her_, how he’s _failed her_, how he is nothing but a _waste of time_. She thoroughly assaults him, and he’s shocked in the face of her violence - capable of defending himself but unable to decide _how_ to do it correctly in the heat of the moment. So he just takes it like a right idiot and allows her mark him up while she viciously shoves and slaps and scratches him, howling about how _horrid _his treatment of her is and how _unfair_ her life is. When her temper finally subsides she storms out of their apartment with a slam of the front door so forceful it shakes two photos right off of the entryway wall, and Robin is left standing in their bedroom, shaken to his core that he’s just been the victim of a domestic violence dispute, and he has no idea whether or not his son is awake in the next room to have overheard the entire thing or not.

God, he hopes not.

He takes a moment to collect himself, to catch his breath and splash some water on his face in the bathroom while his adrenaline level returns to normal. It takes him a minute, but eventually he’s able to raise his eyes to the mirror, taking in the purple welts and bloody, raised scratches on his face, neck, chest, and arms, and he cringes at the pathetic sight. At least nothing appears to be broken. Not on the outside, anyway.

He sighs, pads down the hallway and slowly opens the door to Roland’s bedroom, praying his son is still asleep, that by some miracle his boy has slumbered through the awful temper tantrum that his mother threw and is still oblivious to the wretched situation around him. When he sees that his son’s bed is empty, however, he realizes that he is not so lucky.

Robin enters and closes the door, twisting the lock and whispering, “It’s Papa,” as he gets down on his hands and knees and scooches closer to the bed on his belly to check beneath it, where he knows his son is hiding. Sure enough, when he gets up to the edge, he can see his boy, crammed deep underneath his small bed, pressed tightly against the far wall, clutching his Chanel throw blanket tightly to him and peering back at Robin with wide, fearful eyes. Robin’s heart lurches with despair, and he has never felt more like a failure than he does in this moment.

“It’s just Papa,” Robin calls softly, extending one hand beneath the bed for his son to take, but Roland just stares at the offering and doesn’t move. “Come, my boy, it’s alright now. You’ve nothing to fear, I’ll keep you safe.”

Roland shakes his head _No_, holding tighter to his blanket, and Robin can see the big tears in his eyes as his son pulls the soft fabric up to his face and inhales. It’s an action Robin has seen his son use to comfort himself many times over the past few weeks, and it’s an action even Robin has broken down and used when he’s gotten overwhelmed, gotten desperate and sought solace here in New York - for the blanket is Regina’s, and it still smells like her house, still smells like her, still smells like _home_.

“Please come out,” Robin pleads, “I would never let anything bad happen to you, son. I’m going to stay right here with you all night - but please come out and come to bed.”

“I want Regina,” Roland whispers brokenly. Then he sobs, the sob turns into a wail, the floodgates open, and he cries out loudly, “I want Regina!”

Robin watches helplessly as his son loses total control of his emotions, curling his little body around the blanket and crying wholeheartedly from the stress and fear of their situation. Robin doesn’t know what to do, so he gives in too, he cries right along with Roland, lets the humiliation of the situation wash over him, tells him, “Me too,” while he lays on the floor, half under his son’s bed, one hand outstretched as they both let the tears fall, heartbroken, confused, and desperately missing the woman they were so ready to spend their future with.

When Marian returns later that night, she doesn’t even attempt to enter Roland’s bedroom, and Robin wonders how they’ll get through this argument, how they’ll ever heal from her terrible actions this awful situation. The next day though, Marian acts as if nothing happened, and she even tries to join Robin in his morning shower, offering up her naked body as if _that_ might somehow make up for their fight. He’s never gotten out of the shower so fast, has never been more turned _off_ by the thought of sex, and that only ignites her temper once more, resulting in her throwing angry accusations and toiletries at him.

The situation only escalates over the next couple of weeks until Robin is positively certain that he cannot stay in this relationship for another second. He was willing to try to make it work - to give it a shot because it seemed like the right thing to do, but it’s not working for any of them, and he’s not willing to expose his son to this type of upbringing. He has a responsibility to protect Roland - even from his own mother - and he’s not willing to make his son be miserable when there may still be a chance for happiness elsewhere.

With that thought firmly in place, he sets his mind to finding a way back to the woman he never should have left in the first place, and to formulating a way to convince her to give him, to give _them_ a second chance. He can only hope that he’s not too late.


	11. Chapter Ten

** _ New York - September 2nd, 2016 _ **

_It’s July, and he’s bouncing Roland on his shoulders while his son reaches for the blue puff of cotton candy he’s holding, half-yelling, half-giggling as he asks for another bite of the outrageously sugary substance and Robin soaks in the bright flashing lights of the carnival that is in full swing around them. He’s full of wonder, and while the games, music, food, and lights are all spectacular, the rides are what really draw his eye. He must have taken Roland on the carousel at least six times by now, and after they finish their cotton candy, they’re going on ferris wheel next. _

_He was hoping Regina could join them tonight, and he’s seen her around a bit, but she’s preoccupied, flitting about here and there, glaring at the carnival workers, checking safety certificates and doing her own due diligence checks on every piece of equipment within sight. She’s promised to catch up with them later though, and he can barely stem his excitement for when that moment comes. She’s dressed smartly, in a business suit with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, and it makes him smile because as usual, her exterior matches the fact that she is just as beautiful on the inside._

_Roland makes short work of the cotton candy, and he and his boy clamber onto the big, mechanical wheel, ready to slowly ascend into the night sky and take in the flickering lights of the small town. As they near the top, the ride comes to a halt, and Roland “Ooo’s” and “Ahhh’s” enthusiastically, pointing out pretty lights and shapes in the distance that catch his eye. _

_As his son predictably bores with the ride, Robin takes advantage of the opportunity to broach a subject he’s been wanting, but as of yet, unable to speak with his son about. _

_“Roland,” he starts, smiling when his boy immediately perks up with, “Yeah, Papa?”_

_“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be absolutely sure to tell me the truth, okay?”_

_Roland nods, a look of seriousness on his little face._

_“Do you like Regina? Is she nice to you?”_

_“Yeah!” Roland squirms around on the hard seat next to him and starts chatting away excitedly. “She’s **really **nice. She reads me storybooks, and cuts my pancakes up real small so I can eat ‘em, and when we go places she holds my hand tight, like this,” he says, grabbing Robin’s hand and squeezing firmly. “Oh!” Roland gasps after a short pause, then leans toward him conspiratorially while Robin smirks at his son’s excitement. “And she gives the best kisses, Papa,” he tells him, “The **best**.”_

_“That she does,” Robin chuckles in agreement. Thankfully, Roland doesn’t read into the comment, and Robin charges on. “Would it be alright with you then, if I asked her to be my girlfriend?” _

_“Really?” Roland asks, his eyes round and shining with surprise._

_“Yeah,” Robin shrugs, “See, sometimes she holds my hand quite tightly too,” he squeezes Roland’s little hand back, eliciting a loud laugh from his son. “And if she’s my girlfriend, she might let us hold her hand even more often.” He snuggles up to Roland as the little boy’s eyes widen with anticipation, kissing the top of his head as Roland lets out a little “Wow,” under his breath._

_The ride starts moving again, and Robin can’t quell the butterflies in his stomach as they start their descent, especially when the ground comes into view and he notices Regina standing near the exit to the ride, waiting patiently for them to get done. His heart hammers wildly as she gives him that soft smile he loves so much, and he isn’t even out of the ferris wheel cart before Roland is through the exit gate and throwing himself into her arms. She swings him easily up onto her hip, talking and smiling brightly at him as they wait for Robin to join them, and when he reaches her side he hears Roland ask, “So are you gonna be Papa’s girlfriend so we can hold hands?”_

_Regina shoots Robin what he can only describe as a very amused, but almost shy smile, and he blushes profusely in response, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment over his son’s inability to keep a secret for more than thirty seconds. She’s saved from answering Roland, however, when he spots a bounce house in the shape of a castle and starts wiggling wildly in her arms, begging to be allowed inside. Regina agrees to it, but only after he steadies long enough for them to exchange a sweet kiss on the nose, then she sets him down and he tears off at top speed, reassuring her not to worry, because, “He’s a knight, and it’s his job to defend the castle for his Queen.” _

Just as Robin opens his mouth to ask Regina if she’ll be his girlfriend, the dream goes fuzzy, the flashing, multicolored lights of the carnival blur the picture into one bright, white flash, and Robin wakes in his bed in New York. He’s disoriented, confused, and once again, he’s disappointed that the dream was not reality. It seemed so detailed, so real, so close to a memory that he could swear he lived the experience, and it’s such a tease, such _torture_ to feel so close to Regina when she’s just pushed him away once again. He wishes he had someone to confide in about this, wishes he could talk to someone about what it all means, but the only person he wants to talk to is Regina, and at the moment, she’s gone MIA on him again. He’s not really sure how he managed to cock things up with her once _again_ and he’s got no idea what to do to fix it, so he’s essentially back to square one. The thought is so depressing it has him pulling the covers up over his head, hoping for another dream of her, just so he can see her face one last time.

* * *

** _ New York - September 3rd, 2016 _ **

He doesn’t want to go to sleep tonight. It’s been another entire day and Regina still hasn’t responded to his texts, hasn’t picked up any of his phone calls, and tonight, when he broke down and went to her apartment, she didn’t answer her door either. He’s starting to feel like a bloody stalker, obsessing about her whereabouts, who she’s with, and what she’s doing, wondering if she’s alright, trying to justify making contact with her because of the off chance that she might be in danger, she might need his help. It’s torture, not knowing what’s become of their relationship, not knowing what has happened to her, not knowing if she is even alive, and he dreads going to sleep now because he _knows_ that he will dream of her, and it will kill him to see her in his dreams but not be able to even lay eyes on her when he is awake. He doesn’t understand this behavior of hers, doesn’t understand why she’s run from him or what he’s done to make her act this way, and it’s seriously rattled him that he’s caused this, that he could be so stupid as to make her react the way she did. He hates himself for it, hates that he’s ruined this when he thought they were just starting to really connect.

But life is cruel, and even though he stays up late, drinks coffee and leaves the telly on to entertain him, sleep comes for him fast and hard, and he drifts off before he even has the chance to fight it.

_Robin is sitting on the couch next to Regina with a big bowl of popcorn in his lap as Roland dances around in front of them to the music of the cartoon on the television. Robin his munching popcorn with one hand, the other holding tightly to Regina’s smaller, fine-boned fingers that feel so soft, so smooth beneath his, dividing his time between the antics of his son and taking in the beauty of the woman next to him. He can’t remember a time he’s ever felt happier._

_An older boy with dark hair wanders through the living room, his head ducked down and his attention focused on his Gameboy, and Regina calls out to him._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, sweetie?” she asks, her voice calm and careful, her hand tightening just a bit on Robin’s. “I know you’ve seen this one before, but there’s plenty of popcorn to share, and you can keep playing your game if you want; we won’t interrupt you if you just want to hang out together. I’d - we’d love it if you would.”_

_Her voice sounds strained, and he smooths his thumb over hers slowly in an attempt to comfort her. _

_“Nah, that’s okay,” the boy says without looking up, his tone a bit too careless for Robin’s liking as he continues into the next room, which happens to be the kitchen. _

_There are rustling sounds from the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator door being opened and shut, and Regina calls, “No soda after eight, Henry, you know the rules.” _

_“Awe, come on, Mom,” the boy whines, and Robin smiles at her omniscience._

_“Choose something else,” she instructs, then adds, her tone softer, “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?”_

_“Yeah, cause that’s the same,” Henry gripes, and Robin feels a flare of irritation over the boy’s poor attitude._

_Regina sighs, shifts uncomfortably next to him and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. A few minutes pass where they are graced with the sound of exaggeratedly loud rifiling noises that are obviously Henry sifting through the contents of the refrigerator in search of an acceptable substitute beverage, before the door slams and the boy trudges back into the living room to stand before them. _

_Roland has climbed up into Regina’s lap now, where he is contentedly burrowed in against her, his head pillowed against her chest, while he stares at the vivid images flashing across the telly and absently rocks to the music. Her hand that Robin isn’t still holding is placed gently on Roland’s little back, rubbing slow, smooth circles around and around, lulling the boy as he fights his drooping eyelids and pretends that he isn’t already five minutes away from dozing off in the comfort of her arms. _

_Robin watches Henry as he comes to stand before them, noticing the way the boy’s eyes widen with at the scene in front of him, then narrow with annoyance._

_“Emma lets me have soda after nine. She lets me have it whenever I want,” he challenges. _

_“Well obviously I’m not Emma,” Regina returns, her brow furrowing, body tensing next to Robin’s. “I’m sorry Henry, but you know the rules, and the answer is no.”_

_“Well it’s a stupid rule,” Henry snaps, voice hitching up a notch, his eyes flicking to Robin, then back to Regina._

_Robin is shocked that Regina hasn’t told the boy to check his attitude, but it appears she was just trying to be polite, because in the next second, that’s exactly what she does._

_Her voice is perfectly calm, poised, and respectful as she levels the boy with a stern ‘mom’ look and says, “You’ll lower your voice, and control your attitude this instant, Henry Daniel. That might be how you speak to each other at the Charming’s Finishing School for the Particularly Non-Gifted, but it’s not how we speak to each other in this house, now is it?”_

_The boy turns bright red under her scolding, shakes his head no in agreement with her, and when she tells him to, “Please apologize to Robin and Roland,” he immediately ducks his head and says, “Sorry.”_

_Robin nods, (Roland is fast asleep,) and tells him, “No harm, Henry.” There is an awkward pause where Henry’s eyes drift to Regina’s arm wrapped so tightly around Roland, and oh, suddenly everything clicks into place. _

_The lad is jealous, dazzlingly jealous, from the looks of it._

_“You know, I’m happy to budge-up to make a bit more room on the couch, if you’d like to join us?” Robin adds quickly. At the hopeful look that flashes across Henry’s face, Robin leaps into action. “Here,” he says, trying to be nonchalant, reaching for Roland and pulling the sleeping boy into his arms. “He must be getting heavy, why don’t we lay him down on this big pile of blankets, so we adults can have the couch to ourselves, yeah?”_

_Regina gives him a confused look as he gently sets Roland up in a little blanket nest on the floor (his boy would be thrilled by the thought of it, he loves camping and this would be nothing but another adventure to him), then he slides over, tugging Regina by the hand so that she’s in the middle of the couch, leaving ample space for Henry to take up post on her other side of her._

_It turns out to be the right move. Within fifteen minutes the older boy has given up his false pretenses and tucked himself tightly in beside her, sharing her navy blue Chanel blanket and pressing his gangly, pre-teen body shoulder to shoulder with her as they watch the cartoon he has obviously seen with her dozens of times. It warms Robin’s heart to see them like this, and he wishes they hadn’t had to go through the earlier conflict to get to this point, wishes the boy would have just joined them from the beginning, wishes he knew who the bloody hell this ‘Emma’ was and why she was intent on breaking what seemed like quite reasonable rules for a boy who has obviously inherited Regina’s aptitude for sarcasm, not to mention her strong will._

_When Henry falls asleep against her too, with her fingers brushing soothingly through his straight dark hair, Regina brings Robin’s hand to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. She then whispers, “Thank you,” with such a genuinely appreciative look in her eyes, that he can’t help but to quietly shift closer to her to place a gentle, sweet kiss to her lips in return._

_“For what?” He asks, when their lips are but a breath apart._

_“For helping me with him,” she takes a shaky breath. “No one has ever,” she pauses, takes another shaky breath, then continues, “No one has ever helped me with him, and I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time, especially when it comes to **them**. They let him get away with everything and I just…” She sighs, kisses Robin again and says, “Thank you for supporting me. You have no idea how much this means. I don’t even remember the last time Henry watched a movie with me. This is… heaven.”_

_Robin kisses her forehead once, twice, then eases back into his spot on the couch, and when the movie is over, he notices that Regina has wrapped herself just as tightly around Henry as the boy has her. So without asking, he grabs the remote and restarts the movie, buying them all a few more hours before they must return to the complicated reality that awaits them outside her front door, and during that time he’s happy to admit as usual, she’s right._

_This is heaven._


	12. Chapter Eleven

** _ Storybrooke - December 25th, 2015  _ **

Robin has both pins of his lock pick set embedded in the heavy iron tumblers of the back door to the mayoral mansion before he stupidly realizes that the door isn’t even locked, and he slips the pins back out, a confused furrow pinching his brows together. Regina _never _leaves the house unsecured - she’s borderline obsessed with locking it up, actually, checks everything over at least twice before bed, and he has a hunch that those nights she let him stay over, she probably would have liked to check things even more often but resisted the urge in order to not look foolish in front of him. She uses magic too, to keep people out of her house, but she told him once that she’d learned the hard way to never underestimate the use of a simple mechanical lock, and knowing what he does of her past, he can’t blame her for being paranoid. Which is why the back door to her house should absolutely _not_ be unlocked at eleven o’clock at night, especially when all the lights are off inside, her car is parked in the garage, and he knows, he _feels_ that she’s home.

What’s even stranger still, is that he knows Christmas is special for her and Henry, but there's no sign of the boy anywhere. She told him once, while they were discussing their childhoods and how they were trying to raise their sons better than they were raised, that she was trying to bring Henry up to appreciate the different holidays in this realm, and that when he was a baby she’d done a great deal of research on the concept of Christmas. A key element of the holiday was charity and giving, and since Cora had never exposed Regina to such a thing, _and_ because she had still effectively been evil when she adopted Henry, it had taken her a long time to understand the ideas around it. Eventually she’d come up with some of their own Christmas traditions though, such as coffee and applesauce cake on Christmas morning, and handing out toys to the local children at City Hall in the afternoon, which she and Henry both very much seemed to enjoy.

Regina told him that her very favorite part of Christmas, is that it always ends with her and Henry curled up in the living room in front of the Christmas tree, dozing off to some movie he can’t remember the name of. At this time of night, Henry should be here doing just that, but the lack of activity inside the house is a strong indicator that he’s spending the evening elsewhere, probably with his other ‘mother’, and it irritates Robin to no end that the boy could shirk the Mills traditions this year. Everyone is well aware that Regina spent last Christmas without Henry - her first Christmas _ever_ without him - due to her having to save everyone’s asses courtesy of Peter Pan. No one suffered as much as Regina did during that year, least of all Emma, and the idea that Henry is living it up at the Charming’s loft tonight while Regina spends the evening alone grates on his nerves to such an extent that he has to mentally talk himself down from going over there and giving them all a piece of his mind.

Roland is asleep in his arms, having nodded off during the long, chilly walk it took them to get here once they finally found and made their way across the town line. He knows he’s lucky to get back at all - Regina had told him there was no way to return, and she was quite serious about it. But just before he left town, Tinkerbell had come running, had slipped a bit of fairy dust and a set of geographical coordinates into his pocket and kissed his cheek, gave him a small smile and told him that she’d be seeing him instead of _goodbye_. So while Robin knew he couldn’t get out of leaving, he had never been more relieved to have a _chance_ at coming come back, and, thank the heavens, here he is.

He quietly slips inside the house, not wanting to necessarily surprise Regina but unsure of how she’s going to receive him. He has a plan, a certain way he wants to do this, because he knows he’s hurt her terribly by leaving, and he also knows her well enough to know that she has likely turned her hurt into anger, so she may not let him anywhere near her if he just shows up and rings the bell. Tugging the door quietly shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt for good measure, he carefully skirts through the dark, empty living room - noting that even the Christmas tree lights are turned off - and takes his son upstairs to Regina’s bedroom.

Robin slowly pushes open one of the heavy, white double doors, trying to be quiet so as not to wake her - he knows what a light sleeper she is - takes three steps into the room, and stops short. His eyes fall on the bed, taking in the familiar crisp white sheets and large, fluffy pillows that stand out against the darkness of the room, his heart pounding with the excitement of seeing Regina for the first time since he so stupidly let her fingers slip through his, but to his surprise, the bed is empty.

And that’s… certainly not what he was expecting. He’d been planning to put his boy where he belongs - in bed with Regina - that way they can cuddle all night and wake up to each other on Boxing Day. He can think of no greater gift he can give either his son or his… or the Queen than this, and even if she can’t bring herself to forgive Robin, at least she and Roland will still have each other, and their happiness is all that really matters to him, anyway. But she’s not in bed, and he’s not sure where she is, so Robin decides to take a few minutes to tuck Roland’s little body safe and sound beneath the exquisite sheets before he goes in search of her.

The second Robin lays Roland in her bed it’s like his son _knows _he’s home. He breathes in deeply and rolls to his side, burying his little face in the comforter as Robin quickly divests him of his hat, coat, gloves and boots. Roland doesn’t even open his eyes, he just breathes deeply and whispers, “Regina?” as he fists his tiny hands in the sheets and snuggles up, to which Robin reassures him with, “Soon, my boy, she’ll be here soon.”

Robin leaves her bedroom and jogs down the large main staircase, wracking his brain for where he might find Regina, settling on her home office as his next best option, though he doesn’t know why on earth she might be in there with the lights off. A quick search of the room comes up empty though, as does a subsequent search of the sitting and dining rooms, which leads him into the kitchen.

This area is more well-lit thanks to the dim lights installed beneath the wall cabinets that line the perimeter of the room, making it easier for Robin to see the complete disaster zone that Regina’s kitchen has apparently become. There are used pots and pans littering the countertops, flour spread across the island, various ingredients - sugar, vanilla, baking soda - open and strewn about, and even half a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk sitting out. The entire scene is so _un_-Regina that it sort of shocks Robin, like walking in on a house that’s just been upended from a burglary, and he just stares for a moment before he carefully makes his way further into the room.

Regina is nowhere in sight, and he’s starting to think he misjudged his earlier assessment, that perhaps he was wrong and she isn’t home, but as he rounds the kitchen island, he has never been more disappointed in his life to see that his instincts were, as always, spot on.

She’s sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest, her head dropped forward to rest against them, ebony hair tumbling forward to hide her face, with her arms wrapped securely around her legs. Robin is certain that she’s asleep, Regina is much too still, is breathing too deep and evenly to be aware of his presence, and he is positive that she would never allow him to see her slumped against the kitchen cabinets like this, still in her apron as if she’d simply slid down them from pure exhaustion and let sleep take her. He doesn’t understand what could have happened to put her in such a state, but he knows in his heart that something is wrong, _gravely_ wrong, because Regina isn’t the type to just lie down on the job, isn’t the type to be overcome by her emotions.

He looks around the kitchen for more clues as to what could have happened, and his eyes land on the applesauce cake that is sitting untouched on top of the range. He puts two and two together and realizes that Henry must not have been here at all today, and _Christ_, his heart lurches with the realization, it simply stops beating with the knowledge of how crushed Regina must have been when she had clearly been expecting him and her boy didn’t show. Whatever happened between Regina and Henry must be bad, really, epically bad, and Robin has got to do something to help her, he’s got to do something right bloody now because no one has come to help her - _where the hell is everyone?!_ \- and she’s obviously in need of some support.

Robin crouches down and gets to his knees beside her, knowing he needs to use extreme caution with the Queen. Her pride and her pain will be right at the surface when she wakes, and he’s just as likely to be burnt to a crisp as he is to be embraced for disturbing her. He reaches out and strokes his fingers slowly, carefully down her forearm toward her hand, noting how the dark green silk of her shirt is practically festive against the red of her apron. To most people, this would be perfectly normal attire for Christmas, but to Robin, this is yet another totally uncharacteristic behavior for Regina that amplifies the alarm bells blaring in his head for just how fucked up things have gotten since he’s left.

When his fingers reach her hand, he takes it gently between his own and calls gently, “Steady now, darling, it’s only me.”

Her fingers tighten quickly, viciously around his as she comes awake, and he has a little streak of pride - there she is, there’s his fighter - and he smiles in spite of the situation they’re in. Her head comes up a bit slower as she regains awareness, and he knows she does it on purpose, knows she’s trying to collect her thoughts, trying to figure out what in god’s name is going on before she faces him.

“Is this a dream?” she asks, her head still mostly bowed, eyes dark and unreadable beneath the shadow of her hair.

“If it is, then it’s an excellent one,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood. He’d give anything to make her smile, wonders how long it’s been since she has.

“Am I dead?” she asks, her voice a whisper that has so much _morbid hope _in it that Robin slides closer automatically, dropping her hand in favor of cupping her face, which she jerks away at first, but at his persistence, finally allows him to hold.

“No,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “Thank the heaven’s, you’re not.”

Regina just stares at him for a long moment, and he holds her gaze, _so _worried about her. His heart is one giant ache in his chest; he hates himself, hates that he has not been here to help her through whatever happened. The terrible emotions weave into his soul and make him feel like an utter failure in every aspect of the word. How has he allowed this to happen? How could he not know she was in such pain? How could he have ever left her here with these people who care so little about her? _Fuck._ She deserves better, she deserves _so_ much better than this, than them, than him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she tells him, her voice strained, brow furrowed.

He swallows thickly, nervous but prepared for her resistance. He knew she’d ask him about this, that she’d fight him on his return whether she wants to be with him or not. But this isn’t some game he’s playing, it’s not a decision he’s taken lightly. He belongs here, and so does Roland - he doubts Marian even noticed they left.

“Roland and I… we belong in Storybrooke,” he corrects, keeping his voice soft, choosing his words carefully. At the mention of his son he sees a flicker of something - love, he thinks - in her eyes, and perhaps it’s not playing fair, but it is the truth when he tells her, “Marian’s bond with Roland is… it’s broken. He asks for you, Regina, he misses you and I can’t find a reason to keep him from you any longer. It’s cruel for me to do it to him, and if I may be so bold, it’s cruel for me to do it to you as well.”

“Don’t,” she rasps, her voice gravelly and low, jaw tight, “Don’t use your son as an excuse for,” she takes a shaky breath, “For whatever it is you’re doing here.”

“I’m sorry that it seems that way,” he sighs, understanding her irritation, her anger. “But that is the truth, and it’s the truth for me as well. My relationship with Marian is done, I tried to start over, like you said, but it’s never been what it was, I don’t love her, not like that -” Regina starts to interject but he keeps going, talks right over her because if she gets any traction in her argument he knows she won’t let him get his points out, knows her temper will get the better of her, and he thinks she’s listening right now, which he really, _really_ needs her to do.

“I can’t live without you,” he says bluntly, and Regina makes this pained noise that rips his heart in half, has him moving them around so they’re both kneeling on the kitchen floor. He’s got his hands on each side of her neck, tucked up under her hair, brushing softly at her nape while hers have fallen to his waist, twisting in the knit fabric of his coat. He can see now that she must have been crying earlier - her eyes are puffy and raw looking, her makeup is mostly gone, mascara and liner nonexistent, only dark smudges left at the edges of her eyes from where she would have wiped at the tears. “I’ll take whatever you’ll allow - I don’t expect your forgiveness. You deserve the world and I didn’t, I wasn’t,” he grimaces and shakes his head in frustration with himself. “I didn’t come through for you. I’ll never forgive myself for that, so I certainly won’t ask you to. But please don’t send us away - at least for Roland’s sake, let us stay. If my men are still here I can make camp with them, I’ll keep as far away from you as you’d like, I’ll -”

Her lips land on his so suddenly that he entirely forgets what he was saying. Robin kisses her back without hesitation, revels in the smooth, warm press of her lips against his, the way she parts them to pull lightly at his top lip, basks in the sound of her inhaling against him as she presses her body closer and brings them chest to chest. Robin slides his hands from Regina’s neck to her waist, noticing how thin she feels - _christ -_ then he opens his mouth against hers, slipping his tongue along the seam of her lips, wanting so badly to taste her, to feel the hot, wet heat of her mouth that he has dreamed of so often over the last two months. She eagerly opens her mouth for him, her tongue dancing against his as her hands slide up his chest, going for the zipper of his coat and tugging it down quickly before her hands slide inside to tug his scarf from around his neck, immediately replacing it with the soft, warm stroke of her fingers.

Robin runs his fingers up and down her back in long, smooth strokes, unsure if he should try to escalate, or de-escalate what they’re doing. He loves Regina so much, and of course he wants her, but she’s upset and he doesn’t want to take advantage of her when she’s vulnerable. At the same time, he doesn’t know if saying no to her will upset her more, and god, he certainly doesn’t want that to happen. So he keeps his hands moving, keeps making broad sweeps across her back, playing it safe, almost massaging as he goes, trying to soothe more than arouse as their lips work against each other. He kisses her deeply, slides his tongue into her mouth to flick and tease hers, tilts his head and sucks on her lower lip, lets his teeth scrape across it before immediately coming back and slipping his tongue back in. Regina pushes against his chest until he moves to sit back against the cabinets, then she straddles his lap and starts rubbing her body against his in a way that is quite suggestive of where she’d like to take this. Robin slides his hands down from her back to her round arse as she grinds on him, his breath catching as he starts to get hard for her, her fingernails scratching up the back of his scalp while she nips lightly on his bottom lip and makes this soft little satisfied sigh right against his mouth. She’s so beautiful, even in this state of duress he’s found her in she is completely stunning, and when she breaks the kiss for a breath, he immediately brings his mouth to her neck to suck hotly on her pulse point, before he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sharp edge of her perfect jawline.

Regina glides her hands through his hair, rocking her hips rhythmically against his lap and making these breathy gasps when he drags his teeth down the column of her throat. He uses his hands to knead her arse, to work her hips harder and encourage her to press down, to find some pleasure through their clothing as she rubs on him. He suddenly remembers she’s still in her apron, and he makes short work of releasing the ties behind her back and neck before he pulls it from her body, then he drops kisses all along the low neckline of her silk blouse. She cups his face, tugging his chin upward, her nose bumping his sweetly while her mouth connects with his again and again, and she’s more desperate now, her lips pressing and pulling hard, moving quickly, her hands running up and down his neck, his chest, his face.

He’s certain that they’re about to start shedding the rest of their clothes, that they’re headed toward some sort of tryst on the kitchen floor, when out of nowhere her kisses start to slow, the frantic momentum tapering down little by little, though her passion for him seems to intensify with each hard press and slick pull of her lips against his. Robin doesn’t ever remember a time that they’ve kissed quite like this; with an almost tortuously slow pace that is matched by a heated intensity, the forceful press of their lips bruising and the sucking pull pure resistance to letting each other go. It’s more primal than anything he’s ever felt, and he threads one hand through the soft hair at the nape of her neck to keep her mouth against his, falling into the kisses that slow, slow, _slow_, until they’re barely moving against each other, it’s just her tongue sliding through his mouth, exploring at her leisure, his mouth open and willing to let her do as she pleases, his own tongue stroking soothingly against hers when she pulls back and he tips his head forward to do the same to her. It feels animalistic to kiss her like this, almost a show of dominance and submissiveness to take such time and go so slowly, to explore without feeling rushed, to map every inch of each other’s mouths and lips and tongues, to claim and to take, and it puts him in this daze where all he wants is to do this for the rest of his life. He’s hard in his pants for her, he misses all the other bits about making love to her, but she has never allowed him this sort of intimacy, has never let him go this slowly with her. He feels like this is some sort of turning point for them, where now he can say that he truly knows, better than anyone else in the world, what it’s like to _really_ kiss Regina Mills.

After another moment and one long, lingering kiss, Regina pulls back and presses her forehead to his, whispering, “Wait, _wait_.”

So he waits. Robin settles beneath her, one hand on her lower back rubbing in little circles, the other at her neck, kneading lightly while she decides whatever it is she’s trying to decide. He wishes she’d talk to him, wishes she would tell him what she’s thinking about, but he knows her better than that, knows that if she wants to talk she will, and if she doesn’t, she absolutely will not. He certainly isn’t deserving of being inside her head after having left her on her own for all these weeks, and he cannot ask her to let him in - he fully understands that he has no rights to her thoughts anymore.

Several minutes pass and she doesn’t say anything, she just leans heavily against him, then shifts so that she can tuck her face into the crux of his neck, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she curls her body into him. He wraps his arms around her back and holds her tightly, because he’s never seen her like this, has never seen her so openly vulnerable, and it’s killing him to bear witness to it, killing him to not know what the bloody hell has happened to make her this way. He strokes one hand over her hair as he tucks her in closer - he’s forgotten how small she is, and she’s lost weight since he left, an obvious sign of stress - then he hears her murmur against his neck.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shall I go?” he asks, tears forming in his eyes. He absolutely does not want to go, but he will if he’s causing this, if he’s bringing her more pain.

There’s a pause as she considers his question, and Robin continues to pet her hair, to rub her back. Then her fingers tighten in the fabric of his jacket, she snuggles her face in closer to his neck, adjusts her body so that she’s infinitesimally closer to him, and says, “If Henry finds out…”

Robin furrows his brow. What in all the realms could Henry have to do with this?

“Would he be upset, darling? Is he angry with me?” he asks carefully, rocking her softly side to side.

“No, not you,” she whispers, and he feels wetness against his neck. Tears. _Fuck._

“Why should he be upset with you about me?” he presses, not wanting to upset her further, but needing to know what’s going on, needing to know why she’s so broken.

“He knows about what we did,” her voice breaks and she clears her throat, “-in the vault.”

Robin doesn’t understand why that’s a problem, or really, why that’s anyone’s business. He’s about to ask, but Regina continues before he can.

“Henry thinks I’m a villain now,” she rasps, “They all think I was trying to steal you away instead of finding a way to cure Marian.”

“Well that’s bloody preposterous,” Robin snaps, then immediately softens his tone, “I’m sorry, _christ_, I’m sorry.” She doesn’t need his anger and indignation over this. Regina has been fighting a terrible battle on her own since the day he left, and his ire will do nothing in this moment but make her feel worse. “I’m so sorry, my darling. We’ll make this right. We’ll fix it, I promise.”

“But Henry is right. You’re supposed to be with _her_,” Regina insists, keeping her face tucked into his neck, her voice low, almost a mumble. “That’s how the fairy tale goes. No version exists where Robin Hood ends up with the Evil Queen.”

“I don’t care about some stupid fairy tale,” Robin tells her, hugging her tighter to him. “I’m not some fictional character from a storybook. I’m a real person, and I can make my own choices. And I’m telling you, darling, _this _version of Robin Hood isn’t meant to be with anyone but you. So if it’s not written that way, we’ll just have to write it ourselves.”

“It’s not that simple,” she sighs, her hands slipping beneath his jacket to clutch at the fabric of his long sleeve shirt.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “But perhaps it’s not as complicated as it seems, either.” He pauses, smiling a little when she nods against him, a little sigh puffing against his neck. “Roland is waiting for you upstairs,” he tells her, smiling again when her fingers tighten in his shirt. “He’s all tucked into your bed. Would you like to join him?”

She nods again, and Robin isn’t sure he can take much more of this tonight. His whole heart aches for her, his arms feel stuck, like he can never let go now that she’s back between them, and he doesn’t think for one second that he’s ever going to get over the broken sound of her voice and the way she has burrowed in against his chest, like he’s all she has left in the world. She should never have to feel this way, should never be made to feel anything other than blissful. There is a protectiveness for her inside of him that flares so hot he nearly shakes with the restraint of not letting it show; it’s not helpful right now, not appropriate considering how he’s left her to fend for herself in this, but it’s there and he’s going to have to deal with it before he snaps and does something stupid, like give the Charmings all a good thrashing.

Robin shifts forward so that he can get his feet under him, then scoops her legs up under one arm and hugs her to his chest so that he’s carrying her threshold style out of the kitchen. She doesn’t protest his manhandling, in fact, she just tightens her arms around his neck and keeps her face tucked in close, presses her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his lips, as he carries her easily through the foyer and up the stairs to her bedroom. Roland hasn’t moved a muscle since Robin tucked him in on the far side of the bed and is breathing evenly, clearly deep asleep, so Robin takes Regina to her side of the bed and sets her down, before moving to her dresser and pulling out a pair of satin pajamas and coming back to her.

He gets to his knees before her and reaches slowly for the top button of her blouse, wondering if he should do this, but wanting _so badly_ to take care of her that he just does it, hoping she’ll stop him if she doesn’t want him to. He slips each button through the little hole slowly, giving her plenty of time to tell him no, to shove his hands aside so she can undress herself, but she doesn’t - she watches him instead, her dark brown eyes focused and intense on him until he finally reaches the bottom, where he pulls the shirt up and out of her slacks. He leaves her shirt on, though open, careful not to ogle her as he unbuckles the smooth leather belt she’s wearing, then undoes the little hooks on her pants and slides the zipper down. He’s ready to take her clothes off now, to replace them with her pajamas, and he keeps waiting for her to push him away, but she doesn’t, she just keeps looking at him with this expression like she can’t believe he’s kneeling here in front of her, and it pushes him into further action.

Robin starts with her pants, slips his thumbs in the waistband, careful not to hook her underwear, then pulls them down and off her long, smooth legs. He notices that she’s got on black socks with little Christmas trees and candy canes on them, so he takes those off next, scrunches them up and tosses them clear across the room with much more aggression than is necessary, because such silly socks have no business being anywhere near Regina, they have no business touching his Queen at all. He averts his gaze from anything above her thighs - he’ll lose control if he so much as looks at her knickers, and this isn’t about sex, it’s about trying to show her some kindness, about trying to take care of her. But Robin can’t quite stop from putting his hands on her olive skin after such a long absence of being without her, and he smooths his palms up her legs - ankles to calves, knees to thighs - unable to resist touching her though he’s honestly not trying to turn this into more. She allows him this, though she swallows thickly and her breath hitches when he gets to the tops of her thighs, so he stops immediately and grabs for her shorts, which he slides up and onto her without preamble.

He stops and takes a deep breath - there, halfway done.

Her shirt is next, and this is more sensitive, much more difficult for him to resist, because he knows she doesn’t usually sleep in her bra, and he has a bit of an obsession with her tits that he absolutely does not need to indulge tonight. Robin raises up on his knees so that he is nearly eye to eye with her, and he pulls gently at the open sides of her shirt, peeling it open and down her arms, then discarding it next to her pants on the floor. He takes a few seconds and a deep breath before he turns back to her, trying to calm himself, because he’s half hard and he doesn’t want to make this about him. He wants, more than anything for this to be about her, but she’s looking at him now with heat in her eyes, her hands are reaching around behind her to unclasp her bra, and _\- fuck - _he watches the black lace fabric come loose, though she doesn’t slide the straps off. Instead, she sets her hands back down on her thighs, and patiently waits for him to continue disrobing her.

Robin bites his bottom lip and tamps down the little moan he wants to make. She’s so bloody sexy that a thousand scenarios flicker through his mind - all the different ways he might make this situation into a sexual one - but he fights his impulses back, remembering his purpose, remembering his son is slumbering nearby, remembering that this is not the time, even if the other circumstances were right. He reaches up and ignores the shaking of his hands as he slides the straps of her bra down and off, then reaches for her pajama top, careful not to look _too_ much at her chest, though he does look a little, because he’s just not _that_ strong. Her breasts are as perfect as he remembers - full and round, with a nice natural lift and tight little nipples that make his mouth water just thinking about sucking on them. It takes enormous effort but he forces himself to focus back on his task, on getting her changed so she is comfortable and can get some rest - she doesn’t need him to wear her out tonight, not when she is already exhausted from weeks of being accused of something she’s not guilty of, thanks to him. Regina raises her arms and helps him get her into the top, and he’s honestly quite proud of himself for only pressing one small kiss to her clavicle before they’re done. With the task complete, she scoots back in her big bed while he pulls the covers down for her, then he tucks her in as she shifts over and curls her body around Roland.

His son immediately reaches out, one hand fisting in her hair as he snuggles in, recognizing her even in his sleep, as if his heart is aware of the comfort she provides, even when his consciousness is not. Regina makes this anguished sound, something between a whimper and a sob, but Robin doesn’t want to embarrass her, so he pretends he doesn’t hear it. Instead, he picks up her clothes and folds them neatly, places them on top of the dresser in the corner of the room and grabs those offensive, cheerful holiday socks and heads for the door.

“You’re not staying?” she calls softly, just as he’s about to leave.

“I think it’s probably best that I don’t. I’ve missed you so much and I’m not certain it’s appropriate, not sure that I…” he trails off, unsure how to explain that he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself. “Get some rest, my love, and we can figure this all out in the morning, yeah?”

She doesn’t say anything in response, so Robin slips out of her room and closes the door quietly.

He heads back down to the kitchen, where he throws away her obnoxious socks, then gets to work on cleaning up the place. He’ll not have her wake to this disaster - it will only upset her more, will only remind her of how Henry didn’t honor their Christmas traditions, and though he knows she won’t have forgotten, she needn’t be bothered with the stress of a messy kitchen on top of it. By the time he’s done, he’s thoroughly exhausted, but the kitchen is pristine, the applesauce cake is salvaged and safely wrapped up in the refrigerator, and the coffee is set up to brew in the morning.

Robin settles in on the couch in the den for the night, but he doesn’t get much sleep. He goes over what little information Regina gave him, about Henry being upset with her, about how Robin is “supposed” to be with Marian, and he thinks about the blasted storybook that seems to dictate so much of Henry’s faith in things. Robin concludes that he has never hated an inanimate object more. What’s even more frustrating though, is that Robin knows, he feels deep down in his heart that Regina is the one for him. He’s madly, desperately in love with her - he loves her like he has never loved another soul. Even when he was in love with Marian, it was never like this - it wasn’t even close. He would do anything for Regina, not because she’s a villain or because she has manipulated him, but because he knows without a doubt that deep inside, her soul is _pure_, she is _good_, she is _light_. Regina is the _best_ of them, and without hesitation he would lay down his life in place of hers, would gladly step in front of her and accept any foul fate to spare her from it, because she is worth so much more to the world than any _savior_ this town could even imagine.

Robin doesn’t understand how no one else sees this in her. When he left, he thought for certain that she would be taken care of, that the people around her would rally to her, would help her through whatever hazards life might bring so that she would come out stronger for it. He never guessed that they might turn on her, especially not over something as stupid as one night with him - one night that he initiated, one night of lovemaking that he begged from her, because he needed her, he loved her, and he selfishly could not bare the thought of letting her go. Things would have worked out too - they were going to be together and things were going to be fine - then to no fault of hers things went belly up, and to hold that against her is such rubbish; Robin can’t understand how everyone can lay blame and villainize her for something so clearly out of her control. It’s like they need a scapegoat for their own sins, and Regina is always the easiest, most obvious target.

Robin is starting to notice a bad habit Regina has of listening to these foolish accusations when the odds are stacked against her - a product, no doubt, of years of abuse by her mother, the Dark One, and her forced marriage. But this time, her acceptance has cost her her son, and he’s terrified of the dark path it has started her on. He’s never seen her so upset, has never seen such despair in her eyes or such a weight on her shoulders, and it equally scares him and makes him hate himself for ever letting things get this bad. He was a fool for leaving her here. A bloody fool.

But what’s done is done, and all he can hope for now is that Regina is willing to let him help her, willing to let him support her, willing to take a second, second chance.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke - December 26th, 2015 _ **

Regina wakes to a soft touch, a feather-light stroke down the bridge of her nose that extends into a rub-rub-rub against the very tip. As awareness seeps in she smiles automatically, inhaling and recognizing the scent of the little boy tucked up so tightly against her who has taken it upon himself to snuggle her awake, just like she used to do to wake him on those many occasions he slept in the room next to Henry’s. He whispers her name, tells her, “Sky’s awake, time to get up,” then kisses her nose, mimicking those familiar actions further, warming her heart while her smile broadens. His little fingers trace the smile lines around the edge of her mouth, then move over her lips, and she presses quick kisses to them, reaching for him and tickling his sides as she finally opens her eyes to look into his equally dark brown ones. Roland giggles loudly and squirms under her touch but moves closer to her, not further away, ducking his head under her chin, his wild curls in her face as he inchworms his little body closer and closer until he’s pressed right up against her. He winds his arms around her neck, one hand wrapped in her thick black hair as he laughs and tells her, “G’morning, Regina!”

“Good morning, my little knight,” she says, her voice rough and low from sleep. She smooths his hair out of his eyes - a losing battle with those curls, they just bounce right back into place, the boy really needs a haircut - then she kisses his cheeks and asks, “How are you this morning, sweetie?”

“Good!” he says chipperly, twisting around under the sheets a little. “But Papa forgotta pack my jammies,” he says with a furrowed brow, “And I’m hungry.”

Regina smirks as she looks him over. He’s wearing a tiny gray hoodie over a navy blue t-shirt, and these adorable little jeans with dinosaur socks, essentially the spitting image of his father, and she asks him, “Would you like me to conjure you some pajamas, dear?”

“Ooooh!” he squeals. “Yes! Yes! Blue ones, with dinosaurs!” he demands, bouncing around on the bed next to her in his excitement. She raises her eyebrow and shoots him a look out of pure motherly habit, not meaning to scold him - it’s just her natural instinct kicking in to calm the high energy raucousness of the little boy before he gets going too much, and Roland immediately settles back down onto the pillow beside her. “Please, Regina?” he asks sweetly, exaggeratedly quieting his voice. “Please can I have dino jammies?”

Regina fights her smile, then lets it break anyway, because she loves this little boy so much, and why shouldn’t she let him see her smile for him? He’s so innocent, so sweet, so untouched by the complications of the world around them and he deserves to think the people around him are as happy and content as he is.

She pulls her magic up and channels it through her fingertips, thinking of the correct spells and giving it just a little extra effort so that she can transfigure the clothes he’s wearing into the soft, fleecy dinosaur pajamas he’s requested without him even noticing she’s done it. The spells she casts are smooth and easy, just combinations of rudimentary magic that don’t require much skill or talent, both of which she has an exceptional amount of. When it’s complete, she grins and looks down at his little chest, deliberately drawing his attention there as she asks him, “Well, Sir Knight, are these “jammies” up to your standards?”

Roland looks down and _shrieks_ with glee, then throws himself into Regina’s arms, thanking her over and over for “making his dreams come true,” before he launches himself out of her bed and takes off in search of Robin, because he can’t go another second without showing his Papa his new outfit. She can hear the clamor of his little feet beating down the hallway, thankfully slowing as he approaches the staircase, and she worries about him falling, but knows from the smell of coffee that Robin is already awake and certainly aware of his son’s approach, based on noise level alone. With Roland distracted, she takes the opportunity to grab some clothes and slips into her en suite, knowing that reality is about to hit her and when it does, she needs to be behind a closed and locked door.

Regina starts the water running in the shower, then strips down and stares in the mirror for a long time, just looking at her reflection, thinking about the evil that lives within her, searching her golden brown eyes for a hint of it. There must be something, some sort of tell that gives away her vile nature, something beneath the fine features of her face that the others see when they look at her, because she doesn’t comprehend how else they all know where to lay blame when things go wrong. She understands now that she deserves the condemnation, that this evil is embedded in her - it doesn’t really matter whether she inherited it from her mother or just embraced it while she walked her own dark path - it has found a permanent home within her. But she is curious how _they_ all know it, how Henry can look in her eyes and see it, because when Regina looks in the mirror, she sees no one special, she sees _nothing_.

Robin’s return has exponentially complicated things for her. He shouldn’t be here at all, but since he found a way to come back, she knows he’s serious about staying. Robin is loyal and stubbornly devoted to her - she knows from the way he spoke to her, the way he held her and cared for her last night that she’ll never convince him to go back to Marian. He’s convinced himself he’s in love with her, and maybe he is - but that’s Regina’s fault. She should have ended it with him with more finality, should have told him that they would never be able to re-open this door once it had been closed. It’s not his fault that he came rushing back here when things didn’t work out how they should have with Marian, no - it’s hers for letting him think that they still had a chance to salvage this relationship, should he ever return.

He told her last night that Roland’s bond with Marian seems broken, but Regina cannot stand the thought of the boy being separated from his mother. She doesn’t know what happened between Robin and Marian, but she suspects that he is exaggerating, that he’s only seeing what he wants to see in order to justify his return to Storybrooke. As a mother, Regina can’t imagine not wanting to see her child every second of every day - her impending plan of willfully breaking her bond with her own son is agonizing, it’s _crippling_ \- but the idea that their bond could just vanish on its’ own is downright ridiculous. She doesn’t know Marian, and in many ways she hates the woman, blames her for ruining her last chance at happiness, but god, now that she knows what this feels like, she’s totally unwilling to put someone else through it.

Regina steps into the shower and stands under the spray of the hot water, lets it pound into her scalp and the tops of her shoulders as she cranks the heat higher and higher, until it’s nearly scalding her. She feels filthy, like she’s covered in layers upon layers of grime, so she washes her hair twice, and scrubs her skin until it’s much too pink, but even after all of that, she still feels _wrong_, and she knows why.

She loves Robin, loves him deeply - as much or possibly more than she loved Daniel, and she loves Roland too, loves that little boy as if he were hers. But Snow said something yesterday that Regina has just not been able to shake - that she needs to be aware of her evil influence and the effect she has on children. There is an element of blame for the way Regina is that can absolutely be attributed to her upbringing, to the way her mother’s obsession with power was the determining factor in every decision related to Regina’s future, regardless of her well-being. Regina has never been obsessed with power the way her mother was, but revenge, well, that’s an entirely different story.

Henry has always been the one who saw through her, who discovered her evil plans for Snow White and essentially put an end to all of that. It’s been a long time since Regina has _really_ wanted to kill Snow - she might get angry with the girl from time to time but she’s past wanting to actually murder her. Snow’s point about how Regina has influenced Henry’s life struck a chord within her though, _deep_ within her. The comparison to her own mother and the way she used and abused Regina in any and every way possible to achieve her goals for power makes her feel disgusted with herself, makes her feel _filthy_. Did she do that to Henry? Did she use him, did she abuse him, did she sacrifice him as nothing more than a pawn in her chess match against the Charmings? Did her actions, her influence, blacken his soul the way her mother’s blackened hers? And what about Roland? Has the time she has spent with him already started to corrupt his heart as well?

Snow seems to think so.

As much as is possible, she has come to accept that she has to let Henry go, that she must separate herself from him so that he has a chance at a happy life. He has his _real_ mother and his grandparents who are all pure of heart, _true heroes,_ to care for him and teach him all about love and kindness, so she knows he is in good hands - better hands, _cleaner_ hands than hers could ever be. Her presence, her influence will continue to do nothing but corrupt him. She is a disease, and she will infect his heart with this anger, this disappointment, this hatred he has for her, and as his _other_ mother, she can’t allow it to continue. So she’s planning to dose the town with the Forgetting Potion today, to make them all forget she exists so that they can go about their lives and Henry’s heart can heal from the damage she has so carelessly inflicted upon it.

But now Robin and Roland are here without Marian, and she knows they won’t leave on their own. It’s a terrible complication, it adds insult to injury for her, because even though she loves them - _god _\- she loves them more than anything, and she _needs_ them, needs Robin’s faith in her and his support so damn much, she can’t keep them. She and Robin might have been destined to be together at one time, but Tinkerbell made that determination long before Regina’s soul was thoroughly defiled, back when she still had some good left inside of her. She understands now that villains can’t have soulmates, not when their souls have been shattered into jagged fragments, capable of nothing more than slicing up everything that comes into contact with them into bloody little pieces.

On top of that, she can’t just leave Marian running amok in New York without any idea what happened to her son. Regina _will not _do that to her, she can’t inflict this pain on someone else; it’s too much for anyone to bear, and she might be evil, she might be the Evil Queen, but _fuck_, she’s also a mother, and she has to draw the line somewhere. So she needs to send Robin and Roland back - she _must_ send them back - and there’s only one way she’s going to be able to do it, one way she can be _sure_ that Robin won’t try to return to Storybrooke, won’t try to return to _her_, ever again.

She’s going to make them forget her, then she’s going to send them back to New York with a dose of the potion for Marian, and brand new memories of their entire lives.

Her mind set on what she must do, Regina finally exits the shower and uses magic to dry and straighten her hair. She doesn’t want to delay her loathsome tasks any longer than she has to - it’s going to destroy her either way, and she’d rather get it over with than drag it out all day. She dresses like she’s headed to a funeral - black slacks, black pumps, and a black, long sleeved blouse - appropriate, she thinks, for this occasion. She applies her makeup carefully, sure to get every line, every brush stroke perfect, because this is the last time Robin will ever see her, and she wants to look beautiful for him. She wonders if he can see the evil in her too, if he can see what the others see but he’s just been too polite to ever say something. She doesn’t intend to ask him - after today, it won’t matter anyway.

When she makes her way into the kitchen, she has a moment where her knees buckle, her breath stops short, and she is certain she won’t be able to go through with her plan. Regina _knows_ the state she left her kitchen in yesterday, knows what a disaster it was, but Robin, in all his heroic perfection, must have spent hours cleaning up the mess, because when she walks into the room, she sees nothing but sparkling countertops. All of the dishes have been washed and put away, the various ingredients have been picked up and put back where they belong, all of it - he’s cleaned up the entire mess for her, and to top it all off, he’s waiting at the kitchen island with a smile and a hot cup of coffee for her.

Jesus, she loves him.

“Well,” he smirks, sliding the cup across the granite in her direction, “Look who’s finally woken up.”

She smiles and blushes in spite of everything, struck by how much she has missed him - his thoughtfulness, his teasing, his flirting.

“Good morning,” she returns quietly as she takes the cup, immediately sipping from it while she makes her way to the refrigerator for some soy creamer. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No, not yet,” Robin’s voice is closer than she expected - he’s come around the island so that he’s just behind her, and she jumps a little from his proximity. “Didn’t think it would be polite to eat before the Queen.”

“Mm, no it would not,” she agrees. She surveys the contents of her refrigerator, and her eyes fall on the applesauce cake she made for Henry yesterday. An idea comes to her, and it’s too poetic not to pursue, so she pulls out the cake and hands it to Robin, indicating for him to set it on the island. “There’s no reason the cake should go to waste. Give me a moment to make up the glaze for the top, okay?”

Robin nods solemnly. “So…” he starts, but Regina cuts him off.

“Would you mind terribly, if we wait until after breakfast to talk?” she asks, reaching for a glass bowl in the cabinet across from the island, then gathering the rest of the ingredients she needs.

He hesitates, but when she pauses and looks in his eyes, bright blue and shining with honesty, with goodness, he nods and tells her, “Of course not, darling. Whenever you’re ready.”

She turns on the stove and adds the butter to a small pot to melt, and when Roland comes stomping into the kitchen a few seconds later, she takes advantage of Robin’s distracted state to slip a drop of the Forgetting Potion into the liquid. She goes about the rest of the recipe as if everything is completely normal, as if she’s not about to lose two of the three most important people in the world to her - _again_ \- in the next ten minutes, adding the milk, vanilla, and powdered sugar as Roland chatters on excitedly about his bedroom in New York. Then she pours the glaze of the cake and waits for it to set with this sick feeling of dread shivering down her spinal column, her mouth watering with nausea, hands shoved into her pockets so Robin can’t see her shaking.

“Issit ready yet?” Roland asks for the third time in as many minutes, eyeing the cake closely, his nose mere inches from it as he kneels on the stool at the island and checks the status of the glaze.

“Not quite yet, my dear,” Regina tells him, moving in close to hug him from behind, pressing kisses to the top and side of his head, closing her eyes and smelling his hair, running her palms across his little chest to feel the beat of his pure heart beneath it. “I love you, sweetie,” she whispers to him, praying that Robin interprets this as just her having missed Roland, as her making up for lost time by overcompensating with her affection, not what it really is.

Because what it really is, is her saying goodbye.

“Whadda bout now?” Roland asks, giggling when Regina tightens her arms around him and gives him a tight squeeze and one last kiss.

“Yes,” she rasps, clears her throat and tries again. “Yes, I think it’s ready now. Robin, would you get the plates, please?” She would get them, but she’s shaking so hard she’s afraid she’ll drop them, and Robin is so observant, he’s certain to catch on. She’s a little surprised he hasn’t already.

“Right, I’m on it!” he says with enthusiasm, jumping up from his stool and going to the cabinet to fetch saucers and forks for the three of them. He sets each of them a place where they’re already gathered around the island, then takes the initiative to cut and serve them each a slice of cake.

He pours a glass of milk for Roland, which the boy immediately starts chugging, then Robin settles back onto his stool, a soft smile playing on his lips like he can’t believe his luck, like he’s so damn happy to be here, and it _shatters_ all of Regina’s will power. She shifts from her position behind Roland so she can stand between them, one hand still on the little boy’s back but the other reaching for Robin, and just before he cuts the first bite of his cake, she grabs his chin, pulls his face toward her and kisses him.

He’s obviously surprised but he kisses her right back, opens his mouth and immediately slips his tongue between her lips, and their kiss turns heated in the flash of a second. She can hear Roland loudly drinking his milk, is sure that he’s not paying them any attention, so she kisses Robin with everything she has. Regina wraps her fingers around the back of his neck while his hand finds her hip, and she falls into the feeling of the hot slide of his tongue over hers, the sucking pull against her bottom lip as she teases his top lip, her whole body leaning into him, trying to show him her love for him, _god,_ she loves him so much, hopes like hell that he will be happy with his new life, his new memories. She tries to put all of these feelings into their kiss, concentrating so hard that she doesn’t hear the sound of the front door being flung open, doesn’t hear the rushed staccato of footsteps across the hard marble tile - but she _does _hear the scream that breaks through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

“Don’t eat it! She’s poisoned it!”

Regina tears herself away from Robin, though his fingers tighten harshly on her waist, refusing to let her go even as she turns, so that his arm ends up wrapping protectively around her waist.

“Henry!” she calls, so relieved, so happy to see him that it doesn’t quite hit her what he’s said until he talks over her, looks her right in the eyes and repeats himself.

“Don’t eat the cake! She poisoned it with something, I watched her do it when your back was turned, she put it in the frosting.” Henry’s eyes are wild, his cheeks flushed bright pink as his gaze flickers from hers to the way she still has one hand on Roland’s shoulder, rubbing lightly, attempting to calm him since he’s gone a little pale and wide-eyed at Henry’s shocking interruption.

Regina wars with herself over whether or not she should let go of Roland, unsure which situation is worse - a frightened Roland, or a jealous Henry. She reaches down and pushes Robin’s hand away from her waist, knowing that his show of support, while immensely appreciated on her end, is absolutely not helping her win any points with Henry. She swipes her hand across her lips in an attempt to de-smudge her lipstick, trying to recover from being caught in the middle of such a passionate embrace as she attempts, “Sweetie, I’m so glad you’re home. I didn’t expect you today, not after Snow visited me yesterday. What changed your mind?”

Henry hesitates, but when Robin takes his and Roland’s plates of cake and pushes them out of reach across the island, he seems satisfied enough to answer her. “I, I felt bad about not coming over yesterday. Grandma said you were upset and I wanted to apologize. I thought maybe we could do Christmas today, instead.”

She can’t stop the smile, the rush of joy from coursing through her at his words. She’s just about to ask him the million dollar question, about to ask if he’s finally going to allow her to state her case, when his eyes return to her hand on Roland’s shoulder once again and he asks, “What are _they_ doing here? Aren’t they supposed to be in New York?”

Regina opens her mouth to answer him, but Robin beats her to it.

“We arrived last night,” he tells Henry, “Things didn’t work out for us in New York, so we’ve moved back. For good.”

“And Maid Marian?” Henry asks, narrowing his eyes. “She came too, right?” He looks at Regina suspiciously then back to Robin while he waits for the other man to answer.

“I’m afraid not,” Robin says honestly, clasping his hands in front of him. “Things didn’t get on the way they do in your storybook, mate. That wasn’t the life for us. Our life is here.”

The second those words leave his mouth, Regina closes her eyes with dread, because she _knows,_ through and through, that that was the exact wrong thing to say. Robin has just given Henry an enormous amount of ammunition to use against her, against _them_, and when she opens her eyes to look at her son, she can already see him gearing up for an argument, can see the battle lines being drawn.

“You’re wrong,” Henry says, lifting his chin. “The fairy tales are written the way they are in my storybook for a reason. You don’t belong here, Robin, you have to listen to me, you’re supposed to be in love with Maid Marian -”

“Henry,” Regina warns, trying to break his momentum, but he stubbornly keeps talking.

“My storybook says that you’re supposed to live happily ever after with Maid Marian, _not_ the Evil Queen,” he insists, and Regina flinches at the name. “She’s behind this,” Henry accuses, pointing his finger at Regina. “I don’t know how she’s doing it but she’s a villain, Robin, and she’s been fooling you all along. This isn’t real, she’s been manipulating you, she’s been lying to you, she’s _evil_, she’s -”

Robin stands suddenly, “Now that’s quite enough!” he snaps, and Regina startles, automatically curling Roland’s little body into her protectively, never in her life having heard Robin take such a sharp tone.

Henry stops talking immediately, his face turning bright red in embarrassment, as shocked as Regina is, it seems, as Robin starts to fire back.

“Henry, I love you very much, but I’m respectfully going to have to disagree with both the things you’ve said and the way you’ve chosen to act and speak to your mum right now. I’ve held my tongue because I care about you and it hasn’t been my place to discipline you or speak on your mother’s behalf, but I’ll not stand here and listen to you tell _me _who I am, or am not in love with or where I do, or do not belong. I know you care about your storybook, and it means a great deal to you, but I personally couldn’t give a rat’s arse about what your book says, especially if it has anything terrible to say about the woman who spent the past fifteen years raising you to be the smart, determined, albeit headstrong, young man that you are, because she’s done a bloody good job of it, and there’s no one I trust more with my own son.”

“You’re not listening!” Henry insists, his hands balling into fists, tears of frustration springing to his eyes, and Regina releases Roland with a reassuring kiss to his forehead, wanting to comfort her other son, wanting to help him, but not knowing what she can possibly do when every time she so much as looks at him, he withdraws from her.

“Henry, just stop and listen to me for a moment,” she tries, “ I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, trying to explain, to show you that I’m _not_ a villain, that I have no evil schemes -”

“But I just saw you!” he argues, eyes flashing angrily at her, before he turns back to Robin. “I saw her put something in the frosting - I _saw_ her. Just ask her!” Henry demands.

Robin throws up his hands in exasperation, looks at Regina and asks, “Did you put something in the frosting, darling?”

Regina doesn’t have any option but to tell Robin the truth. She won’t lie to Henry, won’t make him think he’s seeing things or that he’s making things up. She learned her lesson well from when his storybook first showed up, and she vowed never to do that to him again. She doesn’t understand how she keeps finding herself in these positions, how every time she tries to do the right thing, it blows up in her face in spectacular fashion - further showcasing her lack of heroic good luck. There is only one thing she can do now, she must tell the truth, she must do what’s right by Henry, even though she knows it’s only going to make things hurt more.

Regina swallows thickly, meets Robin’s eyes as her own fill with tears of defeat and she whispers, “Yes.”

“See?!” Henry gloats.

Robin, in all of his perfection, doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t look suspicious or upset or hurt for even a second. Instead, if possible, he looks like he’s just fallen even _more_ in love with her, and for the life of her she doesn’t understand why.

Robin nods and watches Roland for a moment, runs his fingers through his son’s hair fondly, then reaches for Regina’s trembling hand and presses it against his chest, right over his heart. It’s their universal sign of trust, it’s the way they say_ I love you_ without ever having to say such difficult words. Everyone knows she could rip his heart out in a second, but she has never done it, she _never _will, and Robin knows this, he trusts her implicitly, and this is always his way of reminding her of it. He looks in her eyes for a long moment, his expression open and understanding, not a hint of anger or mistrust displayed, and when her tears spill over he just tugs her close and presses kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose while he covers her hand on his chest with his and lets her feel the calm and steady _tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump_ beneath her palm.

“Well my boy,” Robin says easily to Roland, and Regina’s fingers twist in the fabric of Robin’s shirt. “What do you say we have our cake?”

“Alright!” Roland cheers, half-climbing up on the island countertop and reaching for his plate, which is still out of reach.

Regina barely stifles an anguished sob, and Robin looks lovingly into her eyes for another moment, an understanding smile on his lips, holding her hand tightly in his against his chest, holding her steady, holding her together.

“Wait!” Henry protests, “What are you doing?!”

Robin doesn’t break eye contact with her, he just smiles that little half smile she loves so much as he brushes her hair back from her forehead with his other hand and asks her, “This is what you need, yeah? You’re sure?”

Regina thinks of her son, thinks of her only chance to salvage her relationship with Henry, summons her last ounce of courage, and brokenly tells Robin, “Yes.”

She hates everything about the situation they’re in, hates that she has to tell him yes, that she has to send him away when he’s so wonderful, he’s _everything_ she has never had. Regina is sure that she will never get over him, she’ll never find anyone close to the level of hero that Robin Hood is, and if she thought her heart was broken when she lost Daniel, she doesn’t know how to describe the wound this time. Shattered, perhaps. Minced.

Robin leans in and kisses her once, then again, then bumps the tip of her nose with his before he smiles and leans back toward the counter to deliver Roland his slice of cake.

“Don’t!” Henry yells desperately, “You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Robin cuts a bite of the cake with his fork and smiles at Regina, the lines around his eyes and mouth deep, only making him more handsome, more beautiful, more pure, and more heroic to her, before he turns to fully face Henry.

“Henry,” he says calmly, “I don’t need to know what’s in the cake, nor do I particularly care, because you’re right. Your mother isn’t a hero - or rather, she isn’t _just_ a hero. She is the _best_ of the heroes, the _very best_ of all of us, and someday my boy, you’ll see that, and you’ll learn to trust her, just like I do.”

And just like that, Robin eats his cake.

Roland follows suit, mimicking his father and gobbling down the confection without delay, and a horrid mixture of love and loss rails through Regina as she watches the potion-induced haze immediately form in both of their eyes, wiping their memories and magically replacing them with the new ones she’s concocted. She starts to go numb with shock, the knowledge of what she’s just done too much to handle, overwhelmed by the fact that she’s just erased herself from both of their memories, and as soon as they regain their senses in the next ten minutes or so, they won’t recognize her. Then it hits her - she’s got to get them out of here, _shit_ \- she’s got to get moving.

“I, I, I have to take them to their car,” she stutters to Henry, needing to get the Locksley’s out of her kitchen and back to the town line where she has stolen and hidden David’s truck, (because _fuck Charming)_, so she can send them back to New York City as fast as possible. She grabs a piece of the frosted cake for Marian and throws it haphazardly into a tupperware container as Robin and Roland stand dazedly by the island, then with a glance at Henry and a quick command for him to, “Please wait here, I’ll be right back,” she poofs the three of them to the town line and sends them on their way, a solid command in their heads to make sure the first thing they do is to deliver Marian’s cake to her and make sure she eats it. The entire thing is over entirely too fast. It’s strange and awkward, a detatched send off because it doesn’t make sense for her to stay and say goodbye when they have no idea who she is, and Regina is infinitely grateful that, at least for now, she can’t feel anything but empty.

Then she poofs home and prepares to face off with her son.

Henry is pacing in the kitchen when she returns, having already thrown away the rest of the cake and thoroughly rinsed the glaze down the kitchen sink. When the swirl of her purple smoke clears, he turns to her and straightens up, his shoulders back, doing his best to maximize his height and trying to look as grown up as possible, knowing he’s in for a battle.

Except that he’s not.

Regina has no intention of arguing with Henry today. She has no intention of arguing with him ever again. There is little good it can do at this point.

“What have you done with them?” he snaps. “Where have you taken them?”

Regina sighs, suddenly very, _very_ tired. “I’ve sent them back to New York,” she tells him, keeping her voice calm and steady.

Henry furrows his brow, and she can tell he doesn’t quite believe her. She can always read him, even when he thinks he’s hiding his emotions, and though she’s still numb from the loss of Robin and Roland, her chest aches over the mistrust she sees in his eyes.

“W-why would you do that?” he asks, “What’s in it for you? What did you put in the frosting?”

“Henry, may we sit for this?” she sighs, rubbing her brow. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I’ll answer every question you have, but I’m not sure I can stay standing for much longer.” It’s an admission of weakness that she’d never tell to anyone but him, and even that is a rarity, a sure sign of her acceptance of her next task.

He chews nervously on his bottom lip for a moment as he considers her request, but her knees are shaking, she feels like she’s going to throw up, and Regina decides she’s had enough. So, she walks into the dining room and pulls out her usual chair, hoping he’ll agree, hoping he’ll cut her a break, because she’s certain that she won’t be able to make the walk back into the kitchen to have this out, and she was being honest when she said she’d answer his questions. But she can’t do this anymore, she can’t keep fighting him.

Thankfully, Henry doesn’t take long to join her, surprising her when he takes the chair next to hers - his usual seat - and she has a sweet moment of nostalgia thinking back through the many times they have sat together, just like this.

Regina remembers so many things from Henry’s childhood, but a large portion of them happen to include sitting right here, because this was one of the central locations she really learned how to be his mother. This is where she learned to feed him solid food - god, he used to make such a mess but he always looked so cute in his highchair. She vividly remembers that highchair - smiles at the memory, because she had had a special wooden one shipped in from California so it didn’t have any of those toxic chemicals in it. Unfortunately, it had arrived unassembled, so she had spent _hours_ putting it together, sitting on the floor like a peasant with tools she had never used in her life, because she didn’t trust anyone else to do it correctly, while Henry babbled happily next to her throughout the evening, then sweetly slumbered while she worked tediously until four in the morning to complete the job. It was the first time in her life she had ever spent so much time working on something that was entirely intended for someone else.

As he grew, she learned to cook for him, spent days agonizing over how to adjust recipes so that he could eat her food and not get an upset stomach from all of the herbs and spices she typically liked to use. Then she spent _years _eating those terribly bland meals with him, until he was finally old enough that she could start trickling in a few new ingredients here and there, adjusting things a little at a time so he could get used to it and wouldn’t turn his nose up like that one time she got a bit too heavy handed with the basil and he refused to eat his Pasta alla Norma because, “it tastes green.” Regina can recall countless nights of sitting at this table with Henry; everything from helping him with his homework - oh, how he hates math - to working together on endless arts and crafts projects, including the time he super-glued his fingers to the table (what a nightmare), and god, so many other perfectly imperfect, sweet moments.

As Queen of the Enchanted Forest, Regina has lost battles with neighboring kingdoms, has been trounced by Snow White and her anarchist supporters more times than she’ll ever admit, has lost _both _loves of her life _twice _and still managed to somehow scrape the pieces together and go on living. But she has never felt so defeated, so full of failure in her entire life as she does right now. How on earth could she and Henry have shared all of these things with Henry and still have wound up here?

Regina is barren. She wasn’t always; at one time she was quite capable of bearing a beautiful child, one that might have her dark eyes and high cheekbones, and perhaps, even, her hot temper. But a few well placed threats from her mother had her second guessing herself, had her taking foolish and spiteful actions against Cora to ensure that she could never be used as a broodmare for the royal line of succession. She hadn’t wanted her child to experience what she went through - the continual manipulation, the incessant surveillance, the impossibly high standards and inevitable failures, which were _always_ followed by a thorough lashing. She envisioned her child crawling across a cold stone floor on bloodied hands and knees with stripes on their back, begging for mercy, just like she did on so many occasions, only to be forced to perform yet another horrid task - no, Regina couldn’t bear the thought, she couldn’t take the risk of her child suffering the way she had.

So Regina happily drank the potion that she knew would destroy her chances of ever producing a child, she vindictively threw motherhood away, thinking she’d won some sort of ludicrous battle with Cora. Much to her horror, though, the second she’d swallowed the infertility potion, she knew she’d made a mistake, and for years she deeply regretted her reckless decision. But then she adopted Henry, and she learned that being a mother really could come from having a child in other ways, and her regret quickly dissipated. She was still the Evil Queen, yes, but she was more _Regina _then she had been in _years_, and the stronger her bond with Henry grew, the stronger Regina became, choking out the darkness of the Evil Queen, until the light of her former self shone through, and she began to doubt her sinister ways.

All this time she thought the evil within her was lessening, that her soul was healing, but it turns out that the evil was always there - it never really went away, it just lay dormant, waiting for a chance to rise up, waiting for any and every opportunity to show itself. She understands now that it is ingrained in her; she is too damaged, too ruined to _ever _heal, just like Rumple said, and she should never have been allowed to raise a child. She shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred feet of one. She’s been such an arrogant fool for these past fifteen years. Such a damned fool, because it simply hadn’t occurred to her that she might be more like her mother than she realized, that a child might suffer under her care just as much as Cora’s.

And who was she kidding, really?

Regina and Cora are cut from the same cloth. She can no longer sit back and pretend she is any better than her mother, not when she has _at least_ as much blood on her hands, not when she _is_ the Evil Queen, for fuck’s sake, and she can’t pretend that she never knew how much darkness was lurking beneath the surface of her beautiful facade all this time, not when she purposely encouraged its progression and never once tried to eradicate it, oh no - at best, all she’s ever managed to do is hide the evil from those who oppose it.

“What did you put in the frosting?”

Henry’s question breaks her from her thoughts and pulls Regina back into the present, back to face the consequences of all of these decisions.

“A Forgetting Potion,” she states quietly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I removed everything - everyone and everything in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest - from their memories, and I gave them new ones, happy ones from living in upstate New York with Marian, so they won’t come back here ever again.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be,” Henry nods, satisfied, though he has the good sense to look just a little guilty, and she wonders what might have happened, had his storybook not included Robin’s fairy tale in it at all.

“Perhaps,” she concedes, because she can’t prove that he’s wrong, and she certainly can’t argue a counterpoint.

“What’re you even doing with a potion like that?” he asks suspiciously. “What’re you plotting?”

“You’re upset with me,” she states, and he looks annoyed, but she doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt her, just trudges forward with her answer. “And I can’t give you what you’ve asked of me. I can’t confess to something I haven’t done, but I can’t continue to stand by and watch you suffer because of me, I can’t watch you be corrupted, be _defiled_ by the darkness in me. So I’ve come up with a way to put and end to it.”

“I don’t understand,” Henry scrunches up his nose. “How?”

She’s careful to keep her voice steady - _steady now -_ her palms clasped tightly in her lap so he can’t see her tremble. “By helping you forget me. By helping the entire town forget me. Don’t you see, Henry? If you don’t know that I exist, you won’t be upset, and you won’t have to feel this way, ever again.”

His eyes widen with shock and Regina sits quietly, letting him absorb the information as the antique clock in the corner of the room _tick-tick-ticks _quietly.

“But that…” he pauses, shakes his head and starts again, “You can’t do that. You can’t just hide all of your crimes, you can’t just sweep everything under the rug and pretend it didn’t happen.” He pauses, scrubs his hands over his face then grumbles, “You just don’t get it - you always think you can use _magic _to make all your problems go away, but all it ever does is make things worse.” She doesn’t miss how he says the word ‘magic’ as if it is a curse word. “How were you going to dose the whole town, anyway?”

Regina’s shoulders feel heavy, her face feels too warm, her breaths are short. “I have procured an extract, a concentrated dose of the potion. I intended to disperse it into the air.” There is no use in hiding this from him, if he’s going to stop her, he might as well do it now.

“So you were just going to alter everyone’s memories without our permission?” He asks, and just as Regina tries to explain her position once again, he suddenly sits up straighter in his chair and says, “Wait… where did you get the potion?”

“From Gold, of course.”

“Then you must have made a deal to get it,” Henry surmises, his eyes moving left to right as he gathers his thoughts and puts together whatever puzzle his mind is trying to solve. “_Belle!_” He exclaims, valiantly leaping up from his chair. “You’re the one who kidnapped Belle!”

Oh, hell.

Regina is so tired - no, tired doesn’t quite cut it - _exhausted_ is what she is. She studies her son carefully, her handsome boy who looks like he actually _wants_ her to challenge him on this, like he’s waiting for her to go head to head with him and debate all her merits and misgivings for the thousandth time, and she just can’t muster the energy for it. It’s not that she couldn’t - she has a decent enough story of the way Gold treated and coerced her into nabbing the girl, for her to squirm her way out of the role she played in abducting Belle, but god, she just doesn’t see the point anymore.

So, Regina looks her son straight in the eyes and admits, “Yes. It was part of the deal.”

Henry stares at her, his mouth open as if he’s about to start yelling, but then he tilts his head at her in confusion and closes his mouth as he drops heavily back down into his chair at the dining room table.

“Mom, you…” he whispers. “You’re a villain.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath and thinks over the supporting evidence, feels her eyes burn with hot tears of self-loathing and pure hatred for her blackened soul, then she feels the prickling itch of acceptance settle over her, like a reptile slithering back into a skin it has already shed, and answers him, her upper lip curled in disgust, “So it would seem.”

They sit in silence for several seconds, the air heavy with emotion.

“Where’s Belle?” Henry asks, and Regina can feel his nervousness, can sense the shift in his attitude from self-righteous anger to paranoid disappointment in the aftermath of her confession. “What have you done to her?”

“Nothing,” the Queen shrugs. “She’s back in her cell in the asylum beneath the hospital.” Gold ordered her to kidnap Belle, he didn’t say anything about not telling anyone where she stashed her.

He nods. “Are you going to try to stop me if I go save her?” he asks, squaring his shoulders.

“Henry,” she sighs, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away and she drops hers back into her lap. “I won’t stop you, and I want you to know that I would _never_ intentionally hurt you. I’m trying to fix what I’ve done, trying to make this better for you. Please let me give you the potion. It’ll make you feel so much better -”

“Enough!” he stands up quickly. “Hand over the potion, hand it over right now, or I’ll go get Grandma and Grandpa and Emma, and I’ll tell them what you’re planning, and they’ll stop you, they’ll-”

Regina waves her hand and the rest of the potion appears in Henry’s hand, making him cut his own tirade off mid-sentence. “You needn’t make threats, my dear,” she says calmly, “I’ll give you whatever it is you ask of me.”

“This is it? For real? No tricks?” he sounds skeptical.

“No tricks. But please, sweetie, just consider -”

“No! Just, just leave me alone, stay away from me. It’s just like Emma said, you don’t think about anyone but yourself, you only ever do what’s best for you. Grandma and Grandpa and Emma, they’re heroes and you - you’re a villain - and I don’t have to stay here - I don’t have to listen to you anymore. I’m through listening to the lies of the _Evil Queen_,” he uncorks the vial of Forgetting Potion and proceeds to pour the contents onto the floor in front of them, the hard-earned, orange tinted, viscous liquid utterly wasted, spattering haphazardly across the hardwood planks as he shakes the container for good measure.

Regina lowers her eyes in acceptance of her defeat as Henry’s use of her wretched moniker slices through her like the blades of a thousand knives. Her once numb body suddenly starts to tremor, her breakdown imminent, waves upon waves of intense pain shooting through her nervous system, making her twitch, making her jaw clench with the effort to stop herself from crying out in agony as Henry smashes the glass vial, and without another word, he walks out the front door. She knew it would destroy her to lose him, but god, she didn’t know it would feel like this, didn’t know that her mind and her body would fracture, right alongside her heart.

She stares after him, nearly convulsing with the effort to contain herself, his words echoing in her head - _leave me alone, stay away from me_ \- remembering a time that she told her own mother the exact same thing, and how much she meant it, how desperate she was; how she tried to run away, tried frantically to claw her way out of Cora’s unyielding grasp. Which is why she knows, without a single doubt, that the only thing left for her to do, is to honor his request.

A mirror shatters somewhere behind her, then another in the hallway, and another upstairs, the loud cacophony of breaking glass reverberating throughout the mansion until every single mirror has met its demise, and for a moment of silence that follows it, Regina sees stars. Then, just like her heart, her vision fades to black.


	13. Chapter Twelve

** _ Storybrooke - January 2nd, 2016 _ **

It’s late in the evening when an unwelcome noise interrupts the heavy silence of the mansion, a forceful pounding on the front door that momentarily startles Regina, before she resigns herself once more to the cocoon of solitude she has wrapped herself in over the past few days.

After several minutes, the knocking stops, but she barely notices. It isn’t until she hears the tentative _crrrunch… crrrunch…_ \- heavy footfalls on glass and other debris - that she realizes someone is inside her house. There is only one person in this town who would be so arrogant, so self-righteous as to waltz into her home without an invitation, and for the first time she can ever recall, she is almost relieved that he has come. It’s dark inside, nearly pitch black, but since she’s been sitting this way for what seems like ages, her eyes have adjusted, and she waits until she can see him in the frame of the doorway before she calls to him.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Prince Charming, come to seek out the monster for himself.”

He freezes, then pivots, the detritus beneath his heels scraping loudly against the marble floor of the hallway as he attempts to identify where her voice has come from. It takes him a moment to pinpoint her, but she waits patiently for him - she has nowhere to go, no one to meet.

David cautiously makes his way into her office, one hand already resting on the pommel of his sword at his belt, as if he expects her to attack him. It makes her laugh - a low, rasping cackle that slowly works it’s way out of the back of her throat one phonetic unit at a time. What is there to fight for?

“Jesus, Regina,” he breathes as he steps further into the room. “What the hell happened here?”

She tips her head to the side and wonders what he’s referring to.

“Are you okay?” he prompts, drawing nearer, “Did someone attack you?”

She stares blankly at him for a moment, then casually responds, “Of course not.”

David only comes about halfway into the room before he apparently loses his nerve and stands awkwardly next to what is left of the shredded antique sofa.

“Well, why does it look like a hurricane came through here, then? And why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Are you afraid of the dark, David?” she goads.

He frowns, but she doesn’t say anything else and after several moments of charged silence, he gives up on his original line of questioning.

“Look, Henry said you’re the one who kidnapped Belle,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I came here to ask you some questions about what happened, to get your side of the story.”

“There is only one side of the story,” she says dryly.

He furrows his brow in confusion. “Okay… Mind telling me what that is then?”

“I did it.”

David looks more perplexed than ever, shaking his head as he looks around her office and asks again, “What’s going on here?”

“I confess,” she says coldly, shifting in her chair behind the two broken halves of her antique desk. Regina holds her hands out in front of her and turns them palm up while pressing her wrists tightly together. “Lock me up and throw away the key.” She has never been more serious about anything in her entire life.

“I…” David laughs nervously, “I don’t know what mind games you’re playing right now, but -”

“This is no game!” she snarls, standing so suddenly that he jumps back, even though he is several feet away from her. “And if you have any sense of what’s good for you, you’ll put those shackles on me this instant,” she demands.

When David doesn’t move, just stares at her with his mouth gaping open, she snaps, “_Do it_, Charming!”

And when he _still_ doesn’t attempt to handcuff her, she loses what little control she has and _screams_, “DO IT!”

“Regina, the fact that you _want_ me to lock you up, is a good enough reason for me not to,” he says, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Useless fool!” she spits as she throws herself back into her desk chair. “I don’t know why I bother.”

There is an awkward pause between them, then David asks, “Is that what you really want? You want me to arrest you?”

Regina stares at the hero before her, annoyed more than ever by how dense he is. “I don’t care if you _arrest_ me,” she growls. “But if that’s what it takes to put me away - do it. Charge me. I’ll confess. There are scores of crimes I am guilty of, you need only name a few to keep me fettered for the rest of my natural life.”

“But why would you want that?”

“Haven’t you heard?” she drawls, slouching in her chair and crossing one leg over the other.

“Heard what?”

She stares into the darkness for a while, a thousand thoughts, a thousand more confessions flashing through her mind.

“Regina, have I heard what?”

She lowers her eyes and wonders which of her sins is worst. She’s never taken the time to rank them, never compared whether cursing every single person in Storybrooke was more terrible than slaughtering an entire village. Or perhaps there’s something even more deplorable, something that she hasn’t yet thought of that trumps both of those things - she certainly has a wealth of transgressions to choose from.

Time passes as she mulls it over - it could be seconds, minutes, hours - she’s not sure how long she’s been thinking when David calls to her, “Uh, hey…?”

But she can’t be bothered by him. She’s too swept up in her memories now, reliving each misdeed, the screams of the tortured and the cries of the innocents pounding in her ears, the stench of death filling her sinuses while she watches the bodies pile up in front of her mind’s eye.

“Regina?”

She looks down at her hands and is _shocked _when they’re _not _dripping in blood, when they’re clean and almost bright white against the black of her pants and the torn sleeves of her black silk blouse. She turns them over and studies the backs of them - noticing that her fingernails are roughly chipped and broken, before she follows the lines of her fine, feminine bone structure down each of her fingers, noting the complete absence of jewelry where at one time or another she has worn varying rings of ownership - wife, queen, apprentice. She wonders what ring she’ll wear next, dares to hope that manacles will be all she knows from this point forward.

_“Hey!”_ David yells, clapping his hands loudly until he gets her attention, and she jerks her head up to look at him.

“What?!” she snaps.

David gives her a completely exasperated look and asks, “I asked you why you want me to arrest you, and you asked me if I had heard something. What is it that I’m supposed to have heard?”

She glares at him.

“That I’m a villain, of course,” she rasps, tipping her chin up as her eyes burn with humiliation. “And villains must answer for their crimes. They must be punished.” She curls her lip with self-loathing while she stares straight into David’s eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to look away; he’s too soft, too pure to lock eyes for very long with a soul that is so certainly damned.

“Listen,” he says quietly, “To be honest, I don’t disagree with you. But putting you in a jail cell isn’t going to solve much of anything, and with your magic, I’m not even sure how to keep you from just poofing out of there whenever you feel like it. I’ll talk to Snow about it - we’ll figure out what to do, and then I’m coming back to finish this discussion, got it?”

Regina rolls her eyes - of course he doesn’t have any good ideas - she really expected too much of him.

David makes a quick exit, letting the front door slam behind him, and the Queen returns to silently waiting in the dark. She is confident that her step daughter can at least come up with a suitable punishment for her; knows that Snow has a fire and a temper in her, and perhaps the girl will use it one last time to finally get the better of monster who tried to murder her on so many occasions.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke - January 9th, 2016 _ **

Regina waits impatiently for her sentencing, waits for the townsfolk to show up at her door with pitchforks and torches blazing, demanding she come out so they can have at her, so they can deliver justice unto her. She anticipates it with a sort of morbid excitement, adrenaline rushing through her veins with just the thought of what horrible vengeance they might have in store. At the very least, she expects David to return, to show up with his silly little sword and his handcuffs, ready to stuff her into the back of the police cruiser (now that his truck has gone missing) so he can cart her off to the sheriff’s office - or perhaps the asylum is a more appropriate choice, considering the obviously fractured state of her mind. But no one comes for her, and they’re idiots because of it. It’s not like Regina hasn’t warned them - she flat out told them she is a villain, told them what she’s done and that she must be dealt with for their own protection. So she cannot understand _why_ it is taking them so long to apprehend her, and she’s starting to get nervous, starting to doubt her self-control, starting to wonder if she can keep the evil in check, or if she’ll just completely lose her sanity and corrupt them all before they even know what hit them.

Each day that passes, she misses Henry more and more, hates herself for what she has done to him, for what she is, and her thoughts turn inward, darkening, dredging up her bygone sins. She obsesses over her past horrors and makes herself relive them in vivid, gory detail, whether they were dealt by her own hand, or she suffered them herself. By the fifth day of this she has slipped into a semi-catatonic state, curled up awkwardly in her desk chair while she stares blankly into space, the only sound the soft, incessant _drip-drip drip-drip drip-drip_ of water leaking from a broken pipe in the demolished downstairs powder room. On the sixth day she starts to get light-headed, starts to feel weak from dehydration, and she’s unable to stop herself when she starts to slide from her chair to the floor of her office. But she’s content to stay there, shivering on the unforgiving, ice cold marble for the next several hours, her teeth chattering, skin paling, until her body finally gives up on her and she loses consciousness.

On the seventh day, Regina is extremely disappointed to wake up warm and safe in her big, soft bed, an IV in one arm and a nastily scribbled note on her nightstand, ordering her to come at once to the diner for a hot meal, lest she incur the wrath of Granny, should the old lady need to return to the mansion to look in on the Mayor again. Regina is honestly surprised by the note and by the care - she hadn’t expected it, and she _really _hadn’t wanted it. She’d accepted the situation, had even reasoned that it might be for the best; she couldn’t hurt anyone if she never left her house, could she?

She doesn’t see any way of getting out of going to the diner now, though, and knowing Granny, Regina is on a deadline. If she doesn’t show up per her instructions, there will certainly be hell to pay, and Regina doesn’t have the strength to put up with the stress of that right now. But she doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want to be talked to or recognized in any way - she doesn’t know where the hell the Charmings are or what is taking them so long to decide her punishment, but she doesn’t want to risk an encounter with Snow or Emma. They don’t understand her, they don’t understand this situation - how could they? They’re _heroes. _And she’s not in any state for some ridiculous heart-to-heart with her step-daughter, or a full out row with the Savior. She can easily see herself killing the other woman in either scenario - the darkness in her is too strong right now, too untamed, and she _can’t_ do that to Henry, she has already hurt him too much. So Regina uses a glamour spell to make herself look like a random citizen, hopeful that her disguise is enough to get her through breakfast, then she reluctantly heads into town.

The diner is mostly quiet when she arrives, with a handful of other patrons scattered widely throughout in no particular pattern, thanks to the _Please Seat Yourself_ sign on display. Regina has no idea what time it is. Her watch broke at some point in the last few days, the glass face smashed, the delicate hands broken clean off, but she knows it’s early by the way the sun is just barely cresting over the trees on the eastern edge of town. She passes by her old usual seat at the high-top counter, and instead she slides into the last booth at the very back of the restaurant, sitting so her back is facing the door. Her plan is simple - she’ll order her meal to go, and when Granny brings it, she’ll drop her glamour spell as proof that she honored the old woman’s request, then she’ll take the damn food and poof home without further delay.

It isn’t long before she hears the quick, sure steps of Widow Lucas approaching her, and Regina is ready with her usual order on the tip of her tongue - coffee with two soy creamers and apple pancakes, no butter. Granny stops right next to her table and Regina starts to speak, the strange voice of the woman she has glamoured herself into sounding high and squeaky in her ears while she fidgets with her watch, struggling to unclasp the band because her fingers are shaky with malnourishment. She isn’t two words into her order when the old lady interrupts her by clearing her throat, sounding annoyed, and when Regina reluctantly looks up at her, she cuts herself off mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open stupidly, eyes wide with surprise.

Apparently, Granny is already two steps ahead of her.

Regina watches, dumbfounded, as Granny sets a plate of apple pancakes (no butter) in front of her, then continues to stare as the old woman opens two small soy creamers and pours them into the coffee mug she’s brought with her. Granny then grabs the carafe off the counter behind her and proceeds to fill her cup to the brim. The old lady huffs with irritation, and Regina snaps her eyes up, shocked.

“You know, girl, the saying actually isn’t, _You can’t teach an old dog new tricks_. It’s, _You can’t fool an old dog, because they already know all of the tricks._ Now, sit here awhile and eat.” Then she’s gone, off to tend to other customers, while Regina stares at her food and resigns herself to having to stay and eat it.

She’s two bites away from clearing her plate when the bell on the diner door chimes, signalling the entrance of new patrons, when Regina hears the distinct voices of David, Snow, and Emma. She stiffens in her seat but doesn’t turn around - none of them are as observant as Granny to begin with, and they don’t have the old woman’s wolf senses either, so she’s confident they won’t know who she is as long as she acts natural. Ironically, they take up occupancy in the booth directly behind hers, so as best she can tell without turning to look, she’s now sitting back to back with Snow and David. Lovely.

Granny comes by and takes the orders of David, Snow, and Emma, most of which Regina ignores, but then she hears something that catches her attention.

“Hey, can you take your headphones out for a second?” Emma asks, to which there is no response. After a brief pause, the blonde states, “Dude, you gotta order your food, just take them out for a second and then we won’t bug you again I swear.”

The annoyed, dramatic sigh of a teenage boy fills the diner, followed quickly by the clatter of a pair of _very_ expensive headphones (she knows exactly how expensive because she bought them for him on his last birthday) being tossed carelessly onto the table. After another few seconds and various rustling noises, Henry finally grumbles his order of, “Chocolate chip pancakes with extra powdered sugar, two cinnamon rolls, and a Mountain Dew.”

Regina cringes at the terrible breakfast he’s chosen - there isn’t an ounce of nutrition in any of that, and she waits for Emma to correct him, to suggest a more lean, protein filled breakfast for a growing young man, but no one says anything about it. Granny tsk’s and heads off in the direction of the kitchen, swooping in to grab Regina’s plate and to refill her coffee on her way through. She somehow manages to forget to drop off the bill, so Regina is forced to wait, with nothing to do but listen to the conversation at the table behind her until Granny returns.

The Charmings make small talk for awhile, and she’s glad to see that as Henry wakes up a little more, his mood seems to improve. He’s always grouchy first thing in the morning, always needs a slow start. When he was little she used to wake him up by rubbing his back, or stroking her fingers through his hair - alarms are his worst enemy and the blaring, angry blast is sure to put him in a terrible mood right away. But a soft, easy wake up always brings him around better, always made her mornings getting him ready for school so much easier, and she learned to build “Henry Wake Up Time” in to every morning, even when he got older and she had to adjust their routine from morning snuggles to soft conversations while she stood in the frame of his door and went over their schedules for the day. Regina fights tears and _god_, how she hates herself for fucking this all up.

“So listen, we should try to make a decision today,” Snow says, just as Regina’s attention drifts back to their conversation. “It’s been a week now and I’m starting to worry. Has anyone seen or heard from Regina since David went to see her?”

There is a pause, and a general agreement that no one has heard from the Mayor in the past week.

“Henry,” Snow asks, “Are you sure she hasn’t tried to contact you? She hasn’t called or texted? She hasn’t stopped by to see you?” Her step-daughter sounds suspicious, and Regina is impressed that the girl has enough sense to suspect Henry of hiding things from them. She wonders if he’s been caught covering up other things, if he’s given her a good reason to ask.

“No, like I said, I haven’t had any contact with her since the day after Christmas,” Henry says firmly.

“I’m telling you, she’s really lost it this time,” David says, his voice low, conspiratorial. “You should have seen the house. It was like an explosion went off - everything was completely destroyed. And she was acting so strangely, well, more so than usual.” Regina cringes at his description of the house. Henry doesn’t need to know what happened, he doesn’t need to know that she lost control, that she nearly raised the whole place to the ground when the darkness consumed her.

David pauses when Granny comes back to the table, and Regina hears the clink of glasses as the old woman delivers their drinks. He waits for her to leave before he continues. “She looked like hell - dressed in black from head to toe, which isn’t unusual for her, but she was pale and disheveled - dark circles under her eyes, hair all messed up and hanging in her face - it was almost like you could _see _the evil in her now.”

Regina grits her teeth and wills him to shut up. Not in front of Henry, for _fuck’s sake_. Not in front of her son.

“What do you mean?” Emma prompts him to elaborate.

Regina wrestles with her temper. What is wrong with them? Don’t they know to shield a child from this? That a boy shouldn’t hear these things about their parents? Hasn’t Henry suffered enough pain without having to hear about how his other mother suffered a nervous breakdown? _Jesus_, shut up, _shut up._

“I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. She was acting creepy, she just, she creeped me out,” he replies. “She kept telling me how she needs to be locked up. Kept talking about her “crimes” and how we should punish her. At one point she just stopped talking entirely, and it took me nearly twenty minutes to get her to respond. I don’t know what she’s up to this time but I don’t trust her. We saw what she did to Belle, it’s anyone’s guess who she’s after next.”

“For the record, I never trusted her,” Emma quips.

“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” Snow interjects. “We _know _why she took Belle - she made a deal with Gold. To Regina, that was probably just business.”

Regina breathes a quiet sigh of relief for the slight change in subject. Her motives for kidnapping Belle are a far less sensitive subject than the state of her mental and emotional loss of control in the wake of losing Robin, Roland, and Henry. Thank god Snow, of all people, has some sense.

“I would think you, of all people, would know better than to trust the Evil Queen, Mary Margaret,” Emma says snidely. “And just because it’s ‘business’, that doesn’t mean it’s not evil.”

“I know,” Snow sighs, “Maybe it’s because I grew up with her, and I’ve seen the good in her too, not just the bad. All I’m saying is that it’s hard to believe that the darkness has finally won after all she’s done, all she’s sacrificed to try to change that.”

Regina wishes that Snow was right, wishes that her sacrifices had been enough, that she’d been able to salvage the tiny bit of light that had started to grow within her for those few months she _almost _felt happy; when she _almost _believed she might get a happy ending, that she might grow old, might be loved by her boys for the rest of her life.

She was a fool to hope, and she’s paying the price for it now.

“Or maybe she was just playing us this entire time, and she was never trying to change,” Emma argues. “Maybe it was easier to play nice with the heroes than it was to fight us.” There is a pause, then Emma adds, “Thank god Henry came along and caught her in her web of lies. Good job, kid, that’s some solid detective work.”

“Thanks,” Henry says with enthusiasm. The obvious pride between Emma and Henry stabs Regina right in the chest, causing her to curl forward in her booth, her hands clutched tightly together in front of her. There are tears in her eyes and she blinks furiously to stop them from falling.

“I mean, it’s definitely possible it’s been a ruse,” David sighs. “She _is _the Evil Queen. We’ve all experienced what she can do first hand, and we know she’s a liar.”

“I guess it’s possible,” Snow sounds unconvinced, but the conversation moves forward anyway.

“So what do we do to put an end to her schemes, once and for all?” David asks. “We all know that putting her in a jail cell isn’t going to solve anything.”

Oh god, please, not in front of Henry, Regina prays. She’ll willingly take whatever punishment they decide - death, torture, banishment - but please, don’t decide it in front of her son. Regina knows him, and she knows that it will only serve to hurt him further, will only drive guilt in him when his anger eventually fades into acceptance.

“I’m not sure we should be deciding this in front of Henry,” Snow says quietly, concern evident in her voice, and again, Regina is grateful for the girl.

“Why not?” Emma challenges. “Whatever we decide to do with her impacts him more than anyone. If you ask me, his opinion is more important than anyone’s.”

Regina wishes more than ever that for once in Emma-fucking-Swan’s life that she’d act like Henry’s parent, not his friend.

The Savior continues, “You saw the Evil Queen trying to poison Robin and Roland with that potion right?” she asks, to which Henry responds dutifully with a _Yep_. “And she told you she was going to do the same thing to all of us too, right? That she was going to make us all forget she was a villain, make us forget all the bad things she’s done?”

“Well…” Henry hesitates. “Yeah, mostly, I mean, sort of.”

“If she was willing to tell Henry all of that, just think about what she was _hiding_,” Emma speculates. “That’s pretty evil on it’s own, but who knows what other deals she’s made with Gold?”

“Yeah,” Henry agrees. “She did say that kidnapping Belle was _part_ of the deal she made with Gold. She didn’t say what else the deal involved...”

In spite of everything, Regina has a rush of pride for her son - her clever prince, of course he picked up on that. God, he doesn’t miss anything, even the smallest details.

“See?” Emma says smugly. “Guys, she could have something way worse planned for us. We need to get moving.”

“Without a way to restrict her magic, we’re going in circles,” David huffs. “If we can find a way to eliminate that, then she’s just like anyone else - we can lock her up and throw away the key. Who knows how to stop her from using her magic?”

Finally, someone has a decent idea.

“I bet Gold does,” Emma supplies. “We could ask him.”

“That’s going to involve making a deal,” Henry argues. “Won’t that make us just like her?” Again, Regina is proud - he knows to stay away from Gold at all costs, he’s such a bright young man.

“Henry’s right,” David agrees. “We’re not that desperate yet. Who else would know?”

There is a lengthy pause, then Snow says quietly, “Regina.”

Regina straightens her back and her stomach drops out as she starts to panic, afraid they have figured out she’s been eavesdropping on them. How did they know? How did they figure out -

“What?” Emma asks in confusion.

“Hear me out on this. No one knows magic like Regina does.” Snow’s voice is low, almost sad sounding, and Regina exhales with relief that she was not discovered like she believed she was. “And since she already told you that she _wanted_ to be locked up, I’m willing to bet she’d tell us how to do it.”

“It’s got potential, but how would we go about it?” David wonders.

“She told you that she _wants _to be punished, right? And you think she was serious?” David must nod, because Snow continues, “Well, if that’s truly what she wants, then I say we simply give her the opportunity to figure out a suitable punishment. She’s the expert in magic, so she knows what will work better than we do, and I don’t know of anyone with more experience dealing out sentences to those with a guilty verdict. According to Henry and David, she’s completely in agreement that she is a villain, so the only thing left to rule on is the sentencing.”

“You know, that’s not half-bad,” Emma supports. “Who better to punish the Evil Queen, than the Evil Queen?”

And finally, _finally_, someone has a plan that Regina can agree with. It’s nearly perfect, for it leaves the heroes hands unsullied, allows them to keep their hearts pink and unblemished, all the while dealing justice and eliminating the monster that threatens to ruin them all. She honestly could not have come up with a better plan - it’s an elegant solution to an intricate problem, for Regina can think of no one whose wrath is as twisted, is as unyielding, is as completely, brutally thorough as her own. It’s all at once ironic and brilliant to turn the serpent on herself, to punish her by shoving her own tail in her mouth, giving her a cannibalistic end to the pathetic, broken existence she has come to know these past few days. There is no one more capable of, or apparently more willing to end Regina’s life, than herself.

The Charmings depart shortly after making their decision, but Regina stays seated in the booth. She’s frozen with despair, with horror, with disgust for her vile nature, and she can’t stand, she can’t even speak. There is movement across from her but she can’t raise her eyes, she’s trapped in her head, dark thoughts of loathing and hatred swirling around, and around, and around, and around, and -

A firm pressure on her hands is what finally snaps her out of it, the force growing until she breaks free of the darkness in her mind. When she shakes the haze from her vision she’s surprised to see Granny sitting across from her in the booth, and is even more stunned to see her hands grasped tightly in between the old woman’s. Regina must have dropped the glamour spell at some point, because they are her _own_ hands, not those of the stranger she was posing as, though that’s of little issue now that the Charmings have gone.

“Come on and fight those demons, you’re not ready to give up yet, girl,” Granny says sternly, peering knowingly at Regina over the top of her glasses.

Regina clenches her jaw and raises her eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to stop the sudden wetness she feels from spilling over.

“Oh? And what do you know about my demons?” she snaps. “What do you know about any of this? You’re nothing but a pampered poodle.” Her voice is barely more than a snarl while she attempts to pull her hands from the older woman’s, but Granny’s grip is shockingly strong, and she doesn’t let go.

“That’s certainly true these days,” Granny admits, then she narrows her eyes, and Regina catches the flash of color change - green to yellow then back to green - and the old lady bares her teeth. “But you’ll do well to remember that I wasn’t always what I am now, and neither were you.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately, I don’t have the convenience of time to tame _my _monster,” Regina snaps, her temper rising. “Not everyone gets an easy out.”

“You think I’ve had it easy?” Granny challenges, “You’re many things, Regina, but naive isn’t one of them.”

Regina finally wrenches her hands from Granny’s and drops them under the table, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her thighs as she fights, and loses, the urge to bite back at the old woman.

“Nor am I patient,” she growls, “So get on with your meddling, _Grace_, before I run out of it.”

Granny gives her an extremely displeased look at the rare use of her first name, but Regina doesn’t care. She’s in no mood for a lecture from some useless old dog who doesn’t know a damn thing about her life.

“You think I don’t know what you’re going through,” Granny states bluntly. “But you’re wrong.”

Regina raises her eyebrows incredulously.

“In fact, I reckon I’m the only person in this town who does know. Hell, I’d wager I’ve had it worse than you have, so you can stop with the attitude, Your Majesty, open those pretty ears, and listen to me before you do something foolish like what you were considering a minute ago.”

Annoyance rushes through the Queen, but she doesn’t have a chance to voice it before Granny continues.

“I spent almost my whole life cursed, transforming into a monster that I couldn’t control, trapped in the guilt, the shame, the horror and destruction of what I’d done to those closest to me. I won’t sugar coat it - there were a few times I considered putting an end to it, that I took ahold of one of those silver-tipped bolts, loaded up that crossbow of mine and stared the wolf in the eyes for longer than I should have.” Granny pauses and shifts uncomfortably in the booth, smoothing her hands across the tabletop before she continues. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret that I had to learn the hard way.” Her eyes are sharp and clear over the beige rims of her glasses as she straightens her spine. “You can’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.”

Regina rolls her eyes, fury and frustration vying for dominance inside of her. “As usual, you’ve missed the point, mutt,” she snarls. “I’m not doing any _good_ now. My heart is black, my soul tarnished.” Regina slaps her hands down on the table in front of her and Granny jumps with the sound. “I don’t _turn_ _into_ the monster.” She stands up quickly, her chin raised defiantly. “I _am_ the monster.”

Granny scowls. “Then stop acting like a helpless victim, and take charge of your life.”

“It’s not like I can put on a red cape and solve all my problems,” Regina spits, full of irritation as she grabs her coat from the booth and starts yanking it on. In her rush, her royal blue scarf slips from the bench seat and onto the floor, unnoticed.

“No?” the older woman asks coyly. “You sure about that? You sure there’s nothing you can do, nowhere you can _go_, to put a stop to all that magic and mayhem that’s stored up inside of you? I never took you for the helpless type, Madam Mayor.”

Regina pauses as she buttons her wool peacoat, her dark eyes connecting with Granny’s as she finally understands what the old woman is suggesting. Aside from death, there is another option, one that Regina hadn’t considered, one that might not render her future a complete waste. If she were to permanently get rid of her magic, Regina would still be corrupt, she would still be a villain, but she would be much less of a threat than she is now. Without her magic she’d be vulnerable, she’d be almost normal, and she’d be able to be punished just like any other citizen, brought to her knees by the repetitive stroke of the lash, which might finally enable her to pay some recompense for her crimes. It might even be possible, with some serious effort and dedication, for her to someday be able to control her darkness from spreading further, for her to find a sort of neutral state, instead of emanating evil and infecting everything she touches. She doesn’t pretend that she might ever be considered _good_, but neutral may yet be possible.

There is only one way she knows to accomplish this - she must leave Storybrooke, she must go to a land without magic, so she can be stripped of hers. It’s a tremendous price to pay, and even though she will eagerly pay it, she shudders at the thought. Regina has had her magic in some form for as long as she can remember - even as a toddler the natural aura of it was ever present, healing and protecting her from her mother’s abuse, and the thought of no longer having it is beyond terrifying - it shakes her right down to her core, sends crippling fear racing through her nerves and makes her lightheaded. The thought of living her life without the protection of her magic frightens her more than death itself, but she can think of no other way to stop herself from doing more damage to those she loves, from encouraging the evil within her to grow into something more formidable, and she knows her magic serves as the greatest catalyst for it. So, if giving up that part of her is what she needs to do to stop the gangrenous corruption from spreading, if that’s the only option she has to save her son from this festering disease she threatens to infect him with, she’ll remove it - she’ll saw off that part of her with a rusty butter knife if she has to - and she won’t think twice about doing it.

Just as she finishes buttoning up her coat, Granny stands from the booth and takes a firm hold of Regina by grasping the lapels of her coat in her wrinkled old hands. Her eyes are clear and sharp behind her glasses, and when she speaks, her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Now that you’ve opened your eyes to the fact that there are other possibilities, I’ll have your word that you won’t end things _prematurely_,” she tugs the Queen’s coat for emphasis.

Regina curls her lip in annoyance and rolls her eyes.

Granny jerks her harshly and it nearly throws Regina off balance. This time her voice has a hint of desperation in it, and when Regina meets the other woman’s eyes, she finds them shiny and red-rimmed.

“You must know by now that the world doesn’t just revolve around _you_, and that your absence in it would affect more folks than you’d care to admit, you stubborn girl.” Granny’s voice breaks, and she gives Regina another rough shake. “Now you give me your word.”

Against her will, Regina’s eyes fill with tears and she scrunches up her nose in frustration. How dare the old lady play on her sympathies? How dare she do this to her now?

And then to Regina’s complete shock, she hears herself whisper, “Fine. I promise.”

Granny nods, releases Regina’s coat in favor of roughly patting her cheek, then turns and abruptly walks off, one hand pressed to her forehead. The Queen watches, stunned, as the Widow Lucas shoves her way through the swinging door and disappears into the back room of the diner, then Regina turns on her heel, and without another word, she teleports home.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

** _ Storybrooke - February 1st, 2016 _ **

It’s _so _bright.

Brilliantly blazing.

It’s the middle of the night and Regina knows that she can’t linger - the flames are much too large, her fireballs having done an excellent job at engulfing the big white mansion within seconds, and someone will call it in soon. She can’t be here when the fire department arrives, no, she has to be long gone, but the fire is hypnotizing, and she stares and stares with her lips quirked up in a maniacal little smirk, the minutes ticking by slowly as she watches her home, her life, turn to ash.

There is something about total destruction that is utterly beautiful.

The fire is much louder than she anticipated. It rudely breaks up the silence of the night with a chorus of crackles, snaps, pops, and hisses, creating the raucous soundtrack to her last moments as the woman, the mother, the queen, she once had so many hopes and dreams for. A portion of the roof collapses and the windows on the east side of the house break, oxygen rushes in to feed the flames and Regina squints, holding one hand up to shield her face as the flames lick higher. Her strange smile grows and she feels as if she is disintegrating with the house, ashen pieces of her soul flaking off and floating away into the night sky, up, up, up to disappear into unassuming nothingness.

A siren cuts through the clamor and it pulls Regina out of her reverie - it’s time now, she has to go. She knew it wouldn’t take long for the Charmings to figure out she was up to something when the dozen or so boxes showed up at the loft, but she couldn’t bear to burn Henry’s personal items along with hers. She’d taken time and great care to pack all of his things by hand into perfectly sorted cardboard boxes, complete with inventory slips taped to the tops of each of them, then she’d magically transported them to him over at Snow’s, so he could decide on his own what he might want to keep or get rid of.

Her legs feel weak and her breaths shake but she can’t afford to second guess herself; if she hesitates for even a second she might not be strong enough to do this, the darkness might win. So she presses on, she reaches deep for the last of whatever goodness is left in her and she wrenches open the heavy door of her Mercedes, then practically throws herself inside and turns the engine. Regina grips the wheel tightly, a wave of hysteria rushes through her, and she starts to laugh, a low, eerie sound that starts in the back of her throat and chokes out through her clenched teeth as she presses down on the gas before realizes she hasn’t yet shifted the car into gear. She laughs harder, losing control a little more, her hand swiping at the gear shift, slapping at it until it moves into the correct position. She then presses down on the gas pedal and points her car in the direction of the town line, just as she sees the familiar, round headlights of a Volkswagen that she already knows is yellow, rounding the corner up ahead and starting toward the fire.

Just as she crosses the town line she wonders if this will be enough for Henry, if the Charmings will be satisfied with the punishment she’s decided for herself, and if she’ll ever know the answer to that question. She glances in the rear-view mirror one last time, feeling freakishly calm, accepting her fate. She is certain that this is the maximum punishment she can inflict on herself, it is what she deserves - to starve herself of the person she loves most in all of the realms, and to pay retribution for her crimes by standing constant vigil over the happily ever after she might have had, had she been deemed worthy of it.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

** _ New York - September 9th, 2016 _ **

Robin barely makes it through the work week before he once again finds himself standing outside of Regina’s apartment, a mixture of guilt and fear swirling through his stomach as he raises and drops his hand in front of her door, changing his mind twice before he finally lets his knuckles rap against the cheap wood. He’s met with nothing but silence, a match to the plethora of messages and texts he’s sent her, and he feels terrible, feels like a complete creep for pursuing her so relentlessly, but at the same time he’s afraid for her safety, terrified something has happened to her, and the way that crackhead from outside had followed him up three flights of stairs, heckling him until Robin had threatened to knock him out, hadn’t done anything to assuage his fears.

He knocks again and is met with still more silence, but he just _feels _like she’s home, and he doesn’t want anything more than to ensure she is alive and safe, so he calls softly through the door, “Regina? It’s Robin. Are you alright?”

Silence.

Robin frowns and rubs his hand over his forehead. She’s here. He _knows_ it.

“I’m sorry, Regina, please,” he begs. “You don’t have to open the door, you don’t have to see me but please, just tell me you’re alright, and I promise I’ll go. I only want to make sure you’re safe, darling, I’ve been so worried about you.”

Silence.

He groans in frustration and pulls out his phone, hits the call button to dial her number and listens hard through the door. He can’t hear anything - no ringtone, no vibration - but he still has this feeling she’s here, she’s close. In some sort of strange, last ditch effort, he reaches for the doorknob and twists, then stands shocked in the hallway when the door swings free without resistance.

He doesn’t enter right away, even though he wants to. Robin isn’t sure what sort of circumstances may have led to Regina’s door being unsecured, and he doesn’t know what he’ll find within. A thousand terrible scenarios flash before his eyes, and if he thought he was afraid for her safety before, what he’s feeling right now is pure terror.

Robin has never been inside of Regina’s residence before, but he’s staggered by the chaos that greets him as he steps inside and tugs the door shut behind him. It’s quite dark, with the only light streaming in from around the edges of the blinds covering a narrow window on the opposite side of the small space. He cautiously feels along the wall until he finds a light switch, but when he toggles it nothing happens, and as he makes his way inward, he finds the bulbs in each of the ceiling lights have been shattered. There aren’t many objects in the studio apartment - no knickknacks, artwork, or photos - but the few things there are, are almost completely destroyed. It’s as if a small tornado has torn through the room - a table and chair have been upended, the wooden legs broken and the sharp, splintered pieces scattered throughout the room; the drawers of a small dresser have been ripped out and the contents scattered, articles of clothing flung about; the doors and drawers of the kitchen cabinets are all half-ripped off and left to dangle haphazardly. Robin stares at the disaster, his eyes wide as he surveys the debris, his heart pounding in his ears, breaths coming fast while he frantically searches for any sign of Regina.

As he inches his way further into the room, he notices several dark streaks interrupting the smooth beige surface of her kitchen countertop, and when he gets close enough to make out what it is, a chill runs down his spine - it’s blood. An odd sound draws his attention to the far side of the room - a quiet rasp that, as he pauses and listens intently, he finally recognizes is a whisper. He squints into the darkness, trying to make out the dim shapes, his ears straining to pick out the individual words. Robin approaches with caution; he isn’t sure if it even is Regina who is lurking on the small bed in the corner, and from the state of the apartment, he’s admittedly a bit nervous, even if it is her.

“Regina,” he calls softly, a several feet away from the bed. “Darling, it’s Robin. Are you quite alright?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and uses the screen for extra light as he slowly steps closer.

“So disappointed,” she whispers, “He’s so disappointed. I’ve ruined it. Ruined him. Ruined everything.”

It’s her, _definitely _her. Robin would recognize Regina’s voice anywhere, even with that broken, weird lilt to it.

“Regina,” he tries again, getting to his knees next to the small bed. She’s curled up on her side with the blankets pulled up to her ears, but she’s facing him, and he’s surprised, _startled_, when he brings the light closer and sees that her eyes are wide open. “What’s happened, love?” he asks, “Did someone hurt you?” A wave of protectiveness washes over him and his temper flares. He’ll kill them. He’ll kill whoever did this to her.

Her eyes shift in his direction but she doesn’t look at him, it’s almost like she looks _through_ him, as she whispers, “Evil… Vile… Corrupt… Stay away,” she rasps, “_Stay away_.”

Robin is starting to get this sick feeling in his stomach, starting to think that maybe there’s more wrong here than he originally thought. He reaches for her, wraps his hand lightly around her bicep through the thick blankets, needing to touch her, to feel better about all this, to be certain that she is solid and safe before him. Regina half-heartedly jerks away, but it’s a weak attempt and it merely serves to confuse Robin more - the woman he knows is agile and athletic, if she truly wanted to pull away from him, she should have no trouble doing so. He narrows his eyes and holds his phone up to see her better.

She’s still mostly covered up by the blankets but he can see that she’s unnaturally pale, her skin clammy with dark purple circles under her eyes. Her ebony hair is pulled up but it’s a curly, matted mess, her lips are brutally chapped and split, dried blood filling in the creases in them. Her voice is a rough, dry rasp from the back of her throat but it’s the look in her eyes that pushes him into action; it’s the blankness, the strange otherworldly detachment he sees that has him pulling the covers back.

“Stay away,” she insists, raising her hoarse voice a little, but she doesn’t fight him as he tugs the blankets down to her waist. “It’s over, it’s too late. I ruined it. I failed again. I couldn’t stop.”

Robin grits his teeth as he looks her over, feeling bad about the fact that she’s in her underwear as he shoves the blankets down to her hips, but he needs to see more of her to confirm his suspicions. He hasn’t seen Regina in a week but he’s _positive_ from the state of her that she hasn’t eaten since then. She’s too thin, too weak and obviously dehydrated, deliriously rambling and in need of medical attention. It’s cool in the room and Regina starts to shiver, so Robin reaches down to cover her back up, and that’s when he notices her hands.

They’re covered in blood, bruised, and scraped open. He frowns.

“Did you…” he pauses, shakes his head with confusion, then tries again, “Did you do this? Did you trash your apartment?”

Regina doesn’t answer him - she just stares into space. Robin reaches for her hand, wanting to inspect the damage, irritation rising in him. Why would she do this? What on earth would have driven her to throw such a fit, then neglect herself so terribly? How on earth could this have happened?

When his fingers wrap around hers she makes this broken little sob and pulls both of her hands away, tucking them tightly into her chest. Robin tries to explain that he needs to see her hands to assess how badly she’s hurt so that he can help her, but this only drives her into a full on rant.

“No, please, _please_,” she pleads, protectively hiding her hands while shaking her head vehemently back and forth. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.”

Robin cups the side of her face and forces her to stop moving. “You don’t _what_, darling? You don’t _what_?” He’s so confused, frustrated and scared by her behavior.

“I _don’t_,” she argues, a desperate edge to her voice, “I _don’t!_”

“It’s alright,” he’s starting to feel desperate too. “You don’t _what_, Regina? Tell me what you mean. I want to understand but I can’t unless you tell me.”

“Please,” she begs again, “It’s not right. I _don’t_.”

“You don’t _what_?”

“_I don’t!”_ her voice is frantic, strained.

Robin puts his hand firmly on her bare shoulder and gives her a little shake, his patience wearing thin, fear getting the better of him as he snaps, “_Christ_, Regina, you don’t _what?!_”

Her dark eyes _finally_ meet his in the blue light of his cell phone, that haunted, glassy look prominent in her gaze as she stares at him for a solid five seconds before she murmurs, her voice hoarse and barely audible, even in the silence of the small apartment, “Deserve it.”

Robin goes very, very still while he holds eye contact with her. There is no room for misunderstanding, the conviction he sees in her expression is clear. Regina has done this to herself on purpose - she absolutely believes what she’s saying. That red hot protectiveness he has always felt for her positively _flares_ inside of him, and Robin is _done_, he’s fucking _done_ watching her suffer like this, he’s done watching her punish herself for whatever reasons she has, he cannot stand by like a bloody idiot and allow this to happen. Absolutely not.

“That’s enough,” he growls, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her up into a sitting position. She groans in protest, her face scrunching up in annoyance, but he ignores her, cups her face and asks, “When did you last eat or drink?”

She pushes against his hands but he holds steady and repeats his question more firmly. “Oiy,” he shakes her. “When?”

In response, she closes her beautiful, dark eyes, so he assumes the worst - figures it’s when they argued - and he pulls away from her, one hand on her arm so she doesn’t tip over while he reaches for the closest articles of her clothing he can find in the dim light. He gets her a long sleeved t-shirt and pulls it over her head quickly, then grabs a pair of leggings and tugs those up, followed by a pair of socks before he lets her lay back down. Then he covers her up and gets to his feet, lets his emotions drive his decisions, not really caring if he’s crossing a line or not - he knows he’s not trying to take advantage of her, and leaving her here is completely out of the question.

He finds a backpack in one corner of the room, half buried beneath a dresser drawer, and when he starts shoving her clothes into it, she asks quietly, “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” he huffs. She doesn’t have much, and he feels frantic, wanting to get her out of this awful place, wanting to take her home where she is safe and he can take proper care of her. She needs to eat, needs to have some soup, or at the very least some of Roland’s Pedialyte.

“Don’t,” she argues, her voice rough. “Robin, don’t.”

“That’s enough,” he bites off gruffly, his temper up. “We’re leaving here, and that’s final. I won’t hear another word about it.” He moves to her small bathroom and starts going through her cabinets, grabbing the few toiletries she owns.

“You don’t understand,” her voice is desperate from the other room. “Please, you can’t, I’m no good, _no good_ \- corrupt, I’m ev-”

“Stop it,” he snaps, striding quickly through the living room and into the little kitchen. He opens her refrigerator and finds it empty, slams the door shut and searches the cabinets for anything she might miss at his place. He pulls out the few drawers there are but finds nothing except a spatula, a pair of tongs, and some strange, little metal numbers.

“I’ll ruin you,” she sobs from her bed. Robin looks up, but he can’t see her across the dark apartment. “And Roland, oh god. Please I, I can’t, he’s, he’ll - please Robin, don’t let me, you have to protect him, this is what I deserve -”

“STOP!” he yells, slamming the drawer closed. “_Goddamnit_, Regina.” She abruptly stops talking and he cards his hands through his hair, frustrated and scared beyond belief. He didn’t mean to yell, knows it’s not going to help anything, but he just can’t understand how she could think such awful things about herself . She has obviously had some sort of breakdown, but he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help her and _fuck_, he feels like his heart is breaking, feels like he wants to collapse with despair, feels like he’s going to lose it if he can’t find a way to mend her. Robin zips up her backpack and slips the straps over his shoulders, adjusting them larger so they fit his broad chest, then, using his phone as a flashlight, he carefully returns to her.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” he apologizes gently, sitting on the edge of her bed. She’s curled up tightly into a ball, the blankets pulled up around her ears, her face tucked down into them. “I’m sorry, darling, _christ_, I’m sorry. I’m just, I’m so afraid,” he admits, wiping his hand across his eyes. “Please let me help you,” he begs, “I can’t bear to see you like this. It’s killing me, it’s bloody killing me, my love, please let me help.”

“I’m cursed,” she whispers. “Please, stay away, don’t let me hurt you.”

“Regina, I’m not afraid of you,” he insists.

“But you really, _really _should be,” she whispers resolutely, covering her face with her hands. “I’m a monster.”

“The woman I know is the furthest thing from a monster,” he argues, his voice steady, firm. Regina’s body starts to shake, he can feel it through the mattress, and he thinks she’s crying, but she’s so quiet that he can’t quite tell. Robin wraps her blanket tightly around her, cocooning her in it before he slips one arm under her legs, then the other around her back as he lifts her into his arms, and she gives her last protest.

“You’re wrong,” she croaks, but Robin stands and hoists her up against his chest a bit further, and he’s relieved when her arms wrap tightly around his neck, her face tucked snugly into him, her hot tears dripping onto his collarbone.

“Well, you’re certainly entitled to consider me a fool,” he shrugs, ducking his head so the bridge of his nose is pressed right against her forehead, his voice low and full of emotion. “But you don’t get to decide how _I_ feel about _you_. I care about you, and I’m not leaving here without you. It’s not who I am.” He takes a deep breath, kisses her forehead and starts for her front door.

“But I’m evil,” she whispers. “I’m the Evil Queen.”

“Now stop with that nonsense,” he corrects. “You may not be perfect but I don’t know a single soul who is. We all have demons. That doesn’t make us evil, that makes us human.” Robin opens her front door and walks out, not bothering to shut it behind him. They’re never coming back here, he’s certain he’s never letting her go again. The lights in the hallway are bright and he squints as he jogs confidently down the stairwell, barely noticing her weight. He feels strong, he feels incredible, he feels _heroic_ with her in his arms. When they reach the street he hails the nearest cab, and when he gets her settled in next to him, he wraps her tightly in his arms and kisses her temple. “You deserve nothing but happiness, Regina, and I’m going to see to it that you’re at least safe and well-tended to until you understand that _that’s_ what you deserve too.”

She doesn’t reply, but she stops fighting him after that. Robin carries her up into his apartment easily enough, and she obediently eats the chicken soup he makes her, even though it’s from a can and he’s certain she wouldn’t even attempt to choke it down if the circumstances were any different. Regina insists on a shower after that, and she’s still shaky enough that he can’t help but linger outside the bathroom door, listening for any signs of distress while she goes about it. She emerges some fifteen minutes later, practically swimming in the forest green, long sleeved henley and black sweatpants he gave her to use as pajamas. She’s turned the cuffs back on both, but they’re still too long on her, so that her feet and bruised hands are barely visible, making her look tiny, making her look so vulnerable that his heart stutters with how badly he wants to safeguard her from the demons that plague her. Her wet hair is curling prettily, brushing the tops of her shoulders, and he’s relieved to see that she’s got a tiny bit of color back in her cheeks, glad that the soup seems to have given her a bit of energy back. When Regina nears him she smells like his body wash, even though he put her toiletries in his shower, and the fact that she’s chosen to smell like him, paired with the fact that she’s wearing his clothes, lights this little thrill of desire for her that he quickly tamps down - now is certainly not the time for those kinds of thoughts. He’s got to learn to keep control of himself if he expects her to trust him, if he expects her to stay, so he takes a deep breath and tucks her into his bed, kisses the crown of her head and heads back into the kitchen.

Roland is at Sara’s for the night - Robin wasn’t sure what might happen when he went to see Regina, and he hadn’t wanted to take any chances, so he’d aired on the side of caution and set it up so his boy would be returned to him bright and early in the morning. Which, now that he thinks of it, will be… interesting to say the least. He’s not sure how to tell his son that they now have a live-in guest. A live-in guest that he has feelings for. _Strong _feelings. Feelings like he has never felt for another woman in his entire life, including Roland’s mother. He wonders how his son will take it, if he’ll understand or be upset, he wonders if he’ll recognize Regina as his “Genie”. Either way, knowing his son and his big personality, it’ll surely be interesting.

Robin pads back down the hallway an hour or so later and peaks into his bedroom to check on Regina. Her back is to the door but at the turning of the knob she rolls over and looks to him. It’s getting late now, almost ten, and if he’s being honest, Robin would love nothing more than to crawl into bed with her. There’s something about her that he finds to be extraordinarily soothing, and he loves being near her, next to her, misses her when they are apart for too long. For the millionth time he wonders how he could have fallen so hard for a woman he has only known for a few short months.

“Alright, darling?” he whispers.

She shifts further to face him, then reaches out her hand in his direction, but he hesitates, afraid that if he goes to her, he won’t be able to resist doing something ungentlemanly.

“Please,” she whispers, “Hold me tonight?”

He cannot -_will not -_ tell her no.

Robin nods, locks his bedroom door, double checks the window lock, then slowly approaches his bed, pulling first his t-shirt off, then his jeans so that he’s left in his boxer briefs. His heart is pounding but he knows they can’t do anything; they’re broken right now, they’re not ready, not healthy in more ways than one. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want her, though, doesn’t mean he doesn’t anticipate her touch, and it’s so hard to think about crawling into bed next to her without reacting to it. He does his best though, he takes her hand and climbs in under the covers, opting for the side that puts him between her and the bedroom door. As he scooches in closer he carefully pulls her hand up and presses a kiss to her battered knuckles, then her scraped palm, before he tucks her hand up against his chest, laying it flat over his heart, resting his own hand on top of hers. Her eyes go wide at his actions, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t attempt to pull her hand away. Instead, she slides closer, tangles her legs with his and tucks her head under his chin, her forehead pressed against his collarbone. Regina’s bruised fingers flex against his chest a few times, and he wonders what she’s thinking but he doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer again, until she’s pressed tightly against him from head to toe. Eventually, she falls asleep that way, her breaths slow and even against his chest, with his nose buried in her thick, dark hair. In spite of everything, Robin finds it easy to relax now that he has her here with him. He hasn’t felt this sure of things in a long time, and he too succumbs to sleep, utterly thankful for this chance to show her just how good, how _worthy_ of happiness she really is.

* * *

** _ New York - September 10th, 2016 _ **

“Genie?”

Regina breathes in deeply through her nose, snuggles into the soft blankets and clings to sleep, valiantly chasing her dream, the only place where she’s allowed to call the little boy with the chestnut curls _hers_. She wills her mind to remain blank, her body to stay relaxed, tries to force herself back into the REM stage of sleep, so that she might spend one more second of pure bliss with him.

The bed dips next to her, jostling her awake just a little, awareness slowly, _slowly_ starting to seep in.

She feels warm breath against her forehead, then a loud whisper of, “Why’re you in Papa’s bed?”

Regina furrows her brow, confused, then opens her eyes slowly, blinking stupidly, the image before her blurry, too close for her to make out the details. She shifts back and her pulse skyrockets, her breath catches, and she fights hard not to burst into tears like a complete fool.

“Hi!” Roland says cheekily, throwing himself down on the pillow next to her, his big brown eyes round and curious.

Regina stares at him for a second, her own eyes wide, then she breathes, “Hi, baby.”

“Whatcha doin’?” he wriggles around on his back until he’s a little closer to her, then reaches out like he’s completely comfortable in her presence and strokes his little fingers down the bridge of her nose. “This is Papa’s bed, Genie,” he explains, his little eyebrows raised. “You’re usually outside.”

Regina nods dumbly, unsure what to say to him. She doesn’t know what Robin plans to tell him - in fact, she doesn’t actually know what the plan is in general, and she doesn’t want to assume anything.

“Are you sick?” Roland asks, and Regina nods again. In many ways, she is very, _very_ sick.

Roland nods, his little face adorably serious while he flattens his palm against her forehead, as if checking for a fever. He holds his hand there for a second, then shrugs.

“Papa lets me sleep in his bed when I’m sick, too,” he informs her. “And he makes me soup. Did he make you soup?”

“Yes,” she tells him, and for the first time in over a week, Regina starts to smile. Roland is so sweet, such a caring little boy. Oh, how she has missed him.

Suddenly, he turns onto his side, a bright smile on his face, his dimples flashing at her as he exclaims, “We’re going to the museum today!”

Her smile broadens. Regina remembers how much Roland loved the little museum in Storybrooke, and upon learning this, she’d guiltily spent an enormous amount of her magic, influence and resources to continuously update the exhibits so he’d have something new to look forward to every couple of weeks.

“Are you gonna come with us, Genie?” he asks, giving her a pleading look.

“I… don’t know sweetheart, you had better ask your Papa -” she barely gets the words out before Roland is leaping off the bed, sprinting from the room and yelling the question at Robin, who she guesses to be in the kitchen or living room, from the sound of the gentle scolding he gives Roland for the ruckus.

Regina rolls onto her back and scrubs her sore, bruised hands over her face, stares at the ceiling for a few seconds and tries to collect her thoughts. She can’t believe she’s here, in Robin’s home, in Robin’s _bed_. Can’t believe that he came to get her, that he… did what he did when he found her… can’t believe that she spent the night wrapped up in the safety of his arms. She was sure she’d never experience that again. She had been completely lost in her grief over it, broken, trapped in that terrifying darkness once more - but then he was there, being strong for her when she couldn’t be, and _jesus_, now she’s here and she knows that as long as he’ll have her, she can’t ever leave him again.

Regina belongs with Robin, regardless of how much it terrifies her, of how much she knows that she shouldn’t be allowed near him for fear that he will be corrupted by her. She wonders if somehow he is immune to her, because he is her soulmate, her _counterbalance_ \- even though she has robbed him of his memory of it -and for the first time ever she wonders if perhaps it’s _him _she needs in order to control her vile nature. On her own Regina can’t protect anyone from herself, she can’t prevent the evil from growing, can’t keep herself from spiraling out, because the scale is always tipped in her favor. She is all at once too strong and too weak to stop it. But maybe, just maybe, if Robin is on the other end of the scale, balancing things out, she’ll stand a chance. Because the truth is, she’s worn out, exhausted from decades of single handedly waging a war against herself, and Robin is _right here_, offering to fight with her, and she just - _god_ \- she loves him so much and she’s so sick of doing this alone.

Regina spent the last few years in Storybrooke desperately trying to change from a villain into a hero. She spent countless hours learning how to predict when her evil might rear up, trying to stop it from seeping from her and infecting those she loves, and during the last year or so, most of the time she was able to catch it before it took control of her. Now, once again armed with Robin’s support, she wonders if it’s possible for her to tranquilize the evil in her, to quiet the monster with love when it yearns for hate, to cripple it with trust when it thrives on suspicion. These types of positive behaviors come so naturally to Robin, they are _instinctual_ to him. He isn’t like her - he’s _inherently _good - which is probably why he’s had so much success in shocking her back to life when her depraved, charred heart gives up and tries to stop beating. Perhaps this time he can help her learn to be more like him, perhaps he can help her regain some control. God knows it won’t be easy.

Regina groans quietly and squeezes her eyes shut in frustration. Why does she have to be this way? Why can’t she just be normal?

“Good morning,” Robin’s voice is a little rough as he stands in the frame of the doorway, looking good in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. “My apologies for the unannounced visitor,” he smiles guiltily. “I hadn’t realized he had sneaked in here until it was too late.”

“That’s quite alright,” she returns, trying to smile. “I can’t think of a better way to wake up, if I’m being honest.”

Robin grins. “I’m not sure if I should be pleased by that statement, or consider it a new personal challenge,” he teases, then steps into the room and holds up a cup of coffee for her.

Regina feels her cheeks heat at his flirtation and ducks her head, her hair falling in her eyes. Robin makes his way closer and sits on the edge of the bed, holding the coffee for her while she shifts to sit up against the smooth, pinewood headboard. When she gets situated, she takes the cup and sips slowly, closing her eyes and humming with how good it tastes, unsurprised that he has somehow remembered she likes soy creamer. She still feels very weak, knows she’s dehydrated and needs to eat some real food, but the coffee is good enough for now, and knowing Robin, he probably already has breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen.

He reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear - the voluminous curls obstinately try to spring free - and he has to smooth them into place a few times before they’ll stay. Regina is a little horrified at how she must look, but she can’t do much about it at the moment, it’s not like she has her magic to perfect her looks on the fly anymore.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” he asks.

She’s not sure if he means mentally or physically - probably both - so she answers in general.

“Better,” she sighs, leans over and sets her coffee cup down on the nightstand, then shifts closer to him, taking his hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she starts.

“Whatever for?” he interrupts, pulling her hands up to kiss the purple bruises on her knuckles. “Darling, there is nothing you need to apologize for.”

“You know that’s not true,” she argues. “The way I’ve treated you certainly requires an apology,” she does her best to keep her voice soft, gentle, though her emotions threaten to break through at any moment. “The way I’ve acted, the things I’ve said… and last week, when we were intimate…” she huffs out a sharp breath. “I didn’t mean any of what I said.” Regina squeezes his hands. “I am obviously not very good at this.”

Robin strokes his thumbs lightly over the backs of her hands. “Not very good at what?”

“Letting someone get close,” she drops her eyes and studies their hands. “Letting someone in.”

He pulls her hands up to rest on each side of his neck, then strokes his own slowly up her forearms to her elbows and back to her wrists. “Just so we’re clear, I want you to know that I haven’t got any expectations of you,” he says softly, his brow pinched with concern. “I don’t want you to think for a second that you owe me anything, that there are strings attached to the things I’ve said or done.” Robin tightens his fingers a little around her wrists, his blue eyes shining with honesty as he pledges, “I just want to help, in whatever way I can, whatever way you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” she tells him, scooching closer, scratching her nails lightly along his hairline. “I feel… I have feelings… for you, like you said the other night… I feel that way too.” God, she knows she sounds like an idiot, wishes she could explain herself more clearly but he doesn’t remember their history and she doesn’t know how to tell him she’s completely in love with him without sounding more insane than she already does.

Apparently what she said is enough, though, because Robin smiles, bright and beautiful, the lines around his eyes crinkling handsomely as he huffs out a little laugh, then bites his bottom lip.

“Yeah?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

She nods and runs her hands down from his neck to his chest, revels in the feel of his heartbeat under her palm, letting their old way of expressing their love consume her for just a moment. Oh, how she has missed this, how she has craved these easy touches and the simplicity of being able to feel the solid heat of him reassuring and supporting her whenever she needed him.

“Will you stay then?” his voice is gentle, sincere, and full of hope, but she’s nervous about such a big step. Regina has at least a thousand fears at the forefront of her mind and no idea how to describe any of them, no way to confide in him how terrified she is of ruining everything.

“I want to,” she says hesitantly. “But Robin, after what you’ve seen, aren’t you concerned? Aren’t you afraid of the influence I might have on Roland? That I might… hurt you?”

“Quite the contrary,” he shrugs, and she gives him a puzzled look. “Every time you’ve had an… episode you’ve done everything in your power to seclude yourself from the world. As far as I can tell, the only person you’ve ever wound up hurting is _you_.” Robin reaches up to stroke her cheek lovingly. “So no, I don’t worry about you hurting us. When it comes to my safety and that of my son, you absolutely have my trust.” He pauses, looks a little guilty then charges forward. “But I’ll admit that when it comes to your own well-being, I have concerns about the way you care for yourself. I know it’s not my place, and you don’t have to stay _here _if you really don’t want to, but I want to be honest and tell you that I can’t bear the thought of you returning to your apartment alone. It’s dangerous, in a multitude of ways, Regina, and the state I found you in is evidence of it.”

Regina cringes, hating that he saw her that way, that he’ll carry that image of her with him now, that he’s seen how shredded her heart really is. “I never wanted you to see me like that,” she drops her hands into her lap and picks at the skin next to her thumbnail. “I… my mother always said I was too emotional, that a proper lady should always be composed and under no circumstances should she ever lose control, but I…”

“Hey,” his fingers are under her chin, tipping it up so he can catch her eyes. It’s difficult for her to look at him when she feels so exposed, but she takes a deep breath and does her best - her eyes flicking down and away several times while he patiently waits - before she is finally able to hold his gaze. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

God, she loves this man.

“You just give me what you can, at whatever pace works for you, yeah?” he reassures her. “And I’ll do my best not to get pushy.”

Regina nods and whispers, “Thank you,” but then she can’t stand it anymore, she reaches for him, wraps her fingers around the back of his neck and tugs him closer, scooting her body up to his until she’s close enough to kiss him. She presses her lips to his firmly, and he’s obviously surprised by her forwardness, he goes totally still against her for a moment before he thankfully kisses her back with a heated enthusiasm that matches her own. She fits his top lip between hers, pushing and sucking gently against it as she tucks her body into him, wrapping one arm around his waist, trying to press herself against him, suddenly needing to feel him against her. When Regina has pulled Robin as close as possible she slowly leans back, using her weight to bring him with her, shifting slightly and trading soft, easy kisses while he settles on top of her, his weight a comforting relief that soothes her right down to her soul.

Robin stretches out over her, settling between her thighs, his hips and stomach pressing down against hers, and – _god _– it’s such a good feeling. It’s not even _that_ sexual, it’s just comforting to have him on her, near her, so close like this. Regina has a moment where her brain reminds her that she should panic, she shouldn’t be this close to him, but she forces herself to react how she naturally once would have - she arches up under him, seeking out his heat, her breasts bumping into him while she opens her mouth against his, licking at his lips and tilting her head to the side to gain better access to him. He threads one hand into her hair, his blunt nails scratching lightly against her scalp while their tongues touch, slipping and smoothing against each other, the hot, wet slide such a welcome distraction in the wake of all that has happened over the past few weeks. Regina lets go, loses herself in their kisses, runs her hands over Robin’s back and parts her thighs further, sucking in a deep breath when he shifts and presses against her core, her fingers digging into his hips in encouragement – god she wants him. He nips her bottom lip, then sucks on it, soothing it with his tongue - _ohhh_ that’s good – she wants to take her pants off, wants –

“Papa?”

It’s an exaggeratedly loud whisper, and she freezes. Oh, _shit_. She forgot that Roland was wandering around in the living room, and now they’ve been caught. _Oh god, oh god, oh god._

Robin, however, doesn’t seem to think it’s such a big deal. He kisses her, nudges her nose with his when she fails to respond, kisses her _again_, to which she chastely kisses him back with her eyes wide open, then he turns his head to the side without giving her so much as an inch of space back and says, “Yes, my boy?”

“Are you kissin’ my Genie?” Roland asks, his eyes wide.

Robin chuckles, his cheeks flushing pink, his bigger body jostling against her with the action. “Why yes, I suppose I am,” he admits.

“Why?” Roland asks as he – _oh god_ \- climbs into bed with them.

Robin grins and looks down at Regina. She’s mortified, and her face must show it, because Robin starts to crack up the second he sees her expression.

“Because she’s beautiful,” he explains, grinning, looking her directly in the eyes. “And beautiful Genies deserve to be kissed. _Constantly_.” Robin leans down slowly, giving her time to turn away. She chances a glance at Roland, who is studying them intently, and – _god –_ she doesn’t want to set a bad example, not to mention that she really _does _want to kiss Robin – _oh does she ever_ – so she turns back to him and gives him a little nod. Robin leans in and she takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself, trying to keep it together, but at the very last second, to her complete surprise, instead of kissing her lips he veers off course and kisses the very tip of her nose. She instantly smiles.

But then Robin pulls back a little, throws her a wink and asks Roland, “Would you like to give it a try, son?” to which the boy nods shyly.

“Robin,” she whispers in warning, her stomach clenching. She’s kissed Roland a hundred times and had hundreds of kisses from him in return - but she’s the only person in the room that remembers that. Today is quickly shaping up to be too much for her, she’s not sure her tattered heart can handle much more of this before it explodes.

Robin just smiles sweetly and coaxes Roland over to them, sliding off to one side of her so that his son can get closer, while Regina’s heart hammers wildly against her ribs and she uses every ounce of concentration she has to keep herself together. She refuses to break down in front of Roland - she doesn’t want to scare him, doesn’t want him to see what a mess she is.

“Right then,” Robin starts, his voice conspiratorial as he ducks his head close to Roland’s across the top of Regina’s chest. “How many kisses shall we give your Genie?”

Roland furrows his brow and thinks hard for a moment as he stares at Regina, and she can’t help it, he’s too cute - she reaches for him and strokes her fingers through his unruly curls while he comes up with an answer.

“Two?” he asks.

“Two?!” Robin repeats, mock offended. “Now Roland, don’t you know that this is a _very _special Genie? She’s the _only_ one like her in the whole world.”

“The whole world?” Roland repeats, his tone full of awe as he scoots closer to Regina’s face and peers deeply into her eyes.

“That’s right.” Robin says confidently. “She’s _extra_ special.” He nods in her direction, then bumps Roland’s shoulder with his own. “So perhaps you meant, two kisses _each, _yeah?”

Roland’s eyes are wide with guilt and he quickly shakes his head yes - stops - shakes it no, then corrects, “Three! Three each!”

Regina breaks into a smile and finds that she can’t stop, one of her hands is buried in Roland’s soft hair and the other is clutching at Robin’s shirt as they tease her and she hasn’t felt this happy in _months_.

“That’s more like it,” Robin agrees. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?” he asks.

“Me!” Roland volunteers, scrambling to pull himself up closer to her. Without preamble, the boy plants three wet kisses on her - two on her nose, one on her cheek, then he sits up triumphantly in bed, bouncing on his knees as he announces, “I did it! I kissed my Genie!”

Regina laughs softly and calls to him while he wiggles all over, and it takes a moment to get his attention. He’s too amped up from his accomplishment to hear her at first - but eventually he calms and settles enough for her to speak with him.

“Now it’s my turn,” she tells him, crooking a finger and beckoning him closer.

Roland's jaw drops comically, his face turns bright red, and he looks to Robin in shock.

“That’s right,” Robin confirms, his voice low. “Go on, son - we always give the Genie whatever makes her happy.” He licks his lips, and Regina is glad that Roland can’t see the way Robin’s hand smooths up the back of her thigh as he says it. He’s such a flirt.

Roland scoots back over to her and Regina makes quick work of giving him his kisses - one to his forehead, one to the bridge of his nose, and one to his cheek - just like she used to do - then he flees the room, red faced and in a fit of giggles. _Jesus_, she loves that little boy.

When Robin is through making good on his three _dozen_ or so kisses, he drags her out of bed and to the kitchen to eat the breakfast that he prepared for her - apple pancakes, a banana, and orange juice - where he persuades her to join them at the Children’s Museum for the day. She’s weak from the way she’s mistreated her body for the past several days, but she wants to go, she _needs_ to go - spending time with them, with Roland especially, is unquestionably good for her. They make her want to _try_, and right now, that’s about the best she can do.

The museum is everything Roland could dream of. It’s at least ten times the size of the small one they had in Storybrooke, with a wide variety of massive interactive exhibits too - everything from Treasures of the Earth, to a Planetarium, to a Dinosphere. Roland runs himself ragged darting back and forth across the large rooms, squealing excitedly with every new discovery, enthusiastically participating in each available activity - digging for dinosaur bones, completing giant constellation puzzles, and deciphering hieroglyphics, just to name a few of his favorites. The boy has an incredible amount of energy and is outrageously friendly. He has no trouble playing nicely with other children during group activities - he grins and giggles almost all day with very few complaints, and it warms Regina’s heart to see him so well adjusted.

By the time they get to the room on ancient Egypt, Regina is just barely keeping her feet under her. She’s exhausted, unused to being awake in the middle of the day, totally unaccustomed to the bright lights of the exhibits and being surrounded by so many people in an enclosed space. It’s unnerving in a way she hasn’t felt until now, because up until this point, she had accepted her fate, had almost looked forward to the pain, to whatever ‘accidents’ might befall her. Now, she’s no longer actively pursuing punishment, she’s trying to move forward, to find some sort of balance, so she’s not sure what she should do if a bad situation arises. She doesn’t have her magic for protection, no - that part of her is dead. The second Regina drove past the Storybrooke town line, she felt that part of herself die, felt that connection she has always shared with nature snap like the breaking of a neck, leaving behind an empty ache inside of her nervous system that pulses painfully all the way down to the very tips of her fingers with each beat of her blackened heart. But she is still unnaturally strong, and fast, so she reminds herself of this, of how she is _not _helpless, while she takes deep breaths and tries to stay calm.

The ruckus and endless, flurrying motion of children is dizzying though, and as she gets more and more tired, it starts to become disorienting, until she’s shamefully clinging to Robin’s hand while she fights down waves of anxiety that keep threatening to turn into a full on panic attack. Robin is sweet about it - he doesn’t act like he doesn’t notice her anxiety but he doesn’t baby her either - after asking her if she’s alright and gaining her word that she’ll tell him if it gets to be too much, he just clutches tightly to her hand and slows his pace to match hers, staying a half a step in front of her to lead her through the crowds and ward off any head-on collisions with stampeding children. She feels like the floor is quicksand, like it keeps trying to suck her down and suffocate her, but Robin is her saving grace; his steady confidence helps her put one foot in front of the other, his gentle patience keeps her breathing just steady enough that she doesn’t slip into a full-on meltdown.

For most of the day, Roland has been completing the activities with Robin, the two of them boisterously showing off for Regina, Roland begging her to join them as much as possible while Robin tries to mediate, knowing how drained she is and not wanting her to overdo it. But when they get to the giant mounds of sand that are supposed to represent the Sahara Desert, apparently Roland can’t quite handle the parallels between his storybook and his real life Genie, because he grabs Regina’s hand right out of Robin’s and drags her over to start reassembling a sarcophagus before she knows what’s hit her. He’s so adorable about it though - firing off all kinds of desert-specific questions as they work to fit the pieces back together - that she finds herself calming from the distraction, her focus pulled away from her fears and settled solely on the little boy and his never-ending curiosity of the world around him. She’s forgotten how pure of heart that Roland is - how easily it has always felt for her to give her love to the littlest of the Merry Men. When she’s laughing, playing, and talking with Roland she doesn’t feel particularly villainous, and he seems totally normal too. She’s curious why she hasn’t had the same negative effect on this little boy that she had with Henry - Roland seems perfectly fine in her presence, doesn’t seem at all like she is infecting him with her evil. Again, Regina wonders if it is Robin’s heroic influence that is counteracting her and allowing her this beautiful opportunity; she wonders if it’s even possible to be that lucky.

“Look, Genie look!” Roland claps delightedly, climbing into her lap just as they fit the last piece into place, successfully completing the puzzle. “Wow,” he breathes, awed by his own achievement.

Regina wraps her arms around him in reaction and tucks her chin over his shoulder. “Well done, my dear,” she says softly, her cheek against his. “Do you want to do another?” There is a second sarcophagus puzzle to complete on the far side of the room, and she’s honestly surprised he hasn’t already sprinted over to it.

Roland shakes his head _no _against her, so she leans to the side and studies his face. His eyes are tired, drooping, and he’s trying to fight it, but she’s seen this look from him too many times to be fooled. He’s finally run all of his energy out, and no matter how much he struggles against it, he’s going to be asleep in the next five minutes. Roland catches her studying his face and squirms on her lap, trying to rouse himself, not wanting to give up the excitement of the day just yet. Regina knows he’ll only put himself in a foul mood if he continues on now, so she tightens her arms around him a little and asks, “Would you mind terribly if we sat here for a few minutes and looked at your puzzle, Roland? I’m quite tired from all that work, perhaps you’d hold onto me so I don’t tip over?”

Roland thinks for a moment, yawns, then nods enthusiastically, tucking up into her body tighter, then turns so his front is pressed against hers, his little legs around her waist, arms around her neck as she settles back on the bench and starts to rock him side to side. She wasn’t kidding, she really is exhausted, but the world has slowed, calmed around them, focused in on just her and this little boy, and she’d sit here with him until her last ounce of strength left her if she could. Apart from Henry, there is nothing else in all the realms that could bring her nearer to happiness than holding Roland. After a few minutes, Robin joins them, settling on the bench so close that his thigh brushes hers, though he doesn’t attempt to take Roland or otherwise interrupt. His presence makes her feel safe, secure, and Regina gives in for what feels like the millionth time today - closes her eyes and rests her cheek on top of Roland’s head as she continues to slowly rock him. She hasn’t had this much human contact in ages, and in spite of how tired she is - physically and mentally - she feels better today than she has in a very long time.

It doesn’t take long for Roland to fall asleep. She can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under her hands, his warm breaths puffing out against her neck where he has cuddled in against her. She’s jealous of his ability to trust so openly, so easily, misses when Henry would fall asleep in her arms - something he once did often, even when he was quite a bit older than this. But that was before she ruined everything.

“He out?” Robin asks, just loud enough for her to hear over the chaos around them.

Regina opens her eyes and nods, not wanting to break the bubble of tranquility she has created, swaying slowly with Roland in her lap.

“Might I suggest we start for home, then?” he bumps her shoulder lightly with his. “If we stay any longer, I suspect I’ll have to carry you both.” Robin’s smile is sweet and teasing, and when he winks at her, it sends butterflies fluttering through her stomach.

They make their way out of the museum quickly, Regina is ready for the peace and quiet of the apartment, and Robin seems to be too, as demonstrated by the fact that he doesn’t hesitate in hailing them a cab instead of suggesting that they walk part of the way. The car ride is quiet, Robin has taken over carrying Roland, and the boy sleeps through it while Regina slumps against the window on the far side of the car, hesitant to lean into Robin, even though she knows he would probably prefer it. She wants to, but she feels like she’s already been spoiled too much today, and she’s wary of the darkness within her, nervous that it might start to seep out if she continues to let her guard down.

The slowly intensifying paranoia in her makes her twitchy, has her feeling like she needs space now, when just a few minutes ago she could barely breathe without Robin’s touch. It’s confusing and frustrating, has her curling up in the seat, her arms bent to cradle her head against the window while she tries to take slow, even breaths. She has to control the evil, she has to keep it in. She swore that she could do this and she cannot fail them, not so soon. It’s only been a day, for god’s sake.

Once they arrive back at the apartment, Robin and Regina make quick work of dinner, then Robin gets a thoroughly exhausted Roland bathed and into bed with less resistance than usual. Regina is half asleep on the couch when he returns from Roland’s room, and she has full intentions on fighting to stay there for the night - she’ll not rob him of his bedroom - but she’s so tired that she lets him pull her to her feet and march her into his room before she even thinks to protest, and he’s got her half tucked under the covers before she finds her voice.

“Robin, I should take the couch, this isn’t fair to you,” she tries, which comes out sounding less than half-hearted, even to her ears.

Robin just laughs quietly and bids her goodnight, checks the lock on the bedroom window, then heads back into the living room, clutching his pillow in one hand.

The second she is alone for the night, however, she starts to second guess everything. What is she doing? She shouldn’t be here. She’s going to ruin everything. Isn’t she going to corrupt them? Has she already done it? Has she poisoned them with her evil? Will they forever be changed for the worse because of her? Regina pulls up the sleeve of the long sleeved t-shirt she’s wearing and presses her fingers to the bandages over her brands. The newer ones from August are still a little raw - that infection really took its toll on her - and the sensitive skin rasps painfully under her touch. She deserves another one for today. She was so, _so selfish_ today. More selfish than she has been in a very long time. But oh, _shit_, she doesn’t have her metal numbers anymore, doesn’t have an easy way to do it, and she doesn’t know how she’d sneak it past Robin, either. And god, what if he caught her? What if he saw the other brands?

The thoughts swirl around and around, the negative energy flickering over her skin until she feels like she’s covered in thousands of creepy, crawling insects, and she can’t keep still, can’t stop shifting around, tossing and turning from side to side, so she gets up and pads into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

“Alright, love?” she hears as she closes the refrigerator.

Regina cracks the lid on the bottle of water and takes a sip before she tip-toes into the living room to see Robin, half-sitting up, rubbing one hand across his jaw.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

She shakes her head no, but she’s already feeling better now that she’s near him.

“Anything I can do?” Robin’s voice is rough with sleep, it’s sexy, and it would make her think of certain _things_ from their past if circumstances were different. She chews over his question for a moment while she plays with the label on her water bottle, picking at it the edges of it with her fingernail, until she gathers the courage to ask him for what she really wants, for what she knows she needs.

“Will you sleep in the bed?” she asks, and when he starts to protest, starts to tell her he won’t eject her from his room, she clarifies, “_With_ me?”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Uh, yeah, of, of course. You sure?”

“Just sleeping,” she blushes a little, feeling like she’s sixteen years old again. She’s never quite gotten used to how Robin makes her feel like a proper lady, even when he knows her past, when he’s had her body, when he’s seen her eagerly part her thighs, her lips, even the cheeks of her ass for him. A rush of arousal courses through her and she adds, “For tonight, anyway.”

Robin smiles at her in that mischievous way he has and grabs his pillow without delay, then follows her into his bedroom. They slide under the covers in sync, shifting so they’re spooning, her back to his chest as he wraps his larger body securely around hers, neither having spoken, just moving on instinct. Regina’s hunch was right - her mind is blissfully quiet, her body calm with him here. She is enveloped in Robin’s forest scent, his warm heat is pressed tightly against her back, his nose buried in her hair, and she can think of nowhere else that she has ever felt so safe from the world, so safe from _herself_, than in his arms.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

** _ New York - September 12th, 2016 _ **

“Where’s your lamp?”

“What, honey?”

“Your lamp,” Roland repeats, swinging his little feet, which are covered by the bright red fleece of his Spiderman footie pajamas. He’s perched on a stool at the kitchen counter watching her make french toast for him, his eyes glued to the frying pan as she carefully lays in the thick slices of bread, which immediately start to sizzle. “Don’t genie’s live in lamps?”

Regina smiles, her eyes crinkling softly around the edges while she sprinkles cinnamon over the top of the bread.

“No, not all,” she tells him, making a mental note to talk to Robin about how to handle this ‘genie’ business going forward. She’s not sure how much longer they should allow this ruse go on, but she doesn’t want to break Roland’s trust in her - she can’t bear the thought of seeing the suspicion in his eyes that she saw in Henry’s. “Some genies live in lamps or bottles, of course, but others live in apartments, just like you,” she educates. “Some live in houses, or tents, some live outside, and some even live in castles,” she says, flashing her eyes at him with amusement.

“In castles?!” Roland gasps excitedly, and Regina nods, gives him a soft _Mmhmm_, before flipping over the french toast.

“Do _you_ live in a castle?” he asks innocently, his big brown eyes sparkling with wonder, and Regina’s heart sinks.

_Damn_. She let her guard down again, got comfortable, let too much of the truth slip out without thinking. She’s glad Robin has already left for work so he can’t overhear her answer. The last thing she wants is to add another concern to his already long list of them, especially after he woke her last night, thrashing around with what he would only describe as, ‘ just another strange dream’. She’s starting to worry about these dreams he’s having - he apparently has them often but he won’t say what they’re about, and last night she heard him call her name with such fear, such brokenness, that it sent a shiver right down her spine. She’s terrified that her presence, her blackened aura is what’s making his subconscious torment him throughout the night, but she just… she needs him. She can’t sleep, she can’t find peace without him. _God,_ she’s selfish.

“I did live in a castle,” she scoops up Roland’s french toast and deposits it onto his plate, “once upon a time.”

Regina presses a kiss to his forehead and starts cutting up his breakfast into bite-sized squares for him as he battles with the red flip-top on the syrup. He finally gets it open, and she helps him pour it over his food, careful that he doesn’t get too much - she might be spoiling him a little this morning but she’s still a mother, and she won’t let him drown his plate with sugar. She adds some blueberries and strawberries to his plate, then sits beside him while he eats, still a little shocked that Robin has allowed her this - to get him ready and take him to school all on her own while he went off to work early this morning. Robin has a new project starting, and when he’d asked her if she felt comfortable taking care of Roland, she’d almost cried over the opportunity. She doesn’t understand how he can hand over such a huge responsibility so effortlessly to her, how he can entrust her with the life of his son as if she were worthy of such an honor, but she promised she wouldn’t mess it up, and she won’t. She _won’t_. Not this time, not like she did with Henry.

“How’d you get your owies?” Roland asks around a mouthful of berries, looking at her hands. “Didju fall down?”

Regina follows his gaze and reactively covers her bruised knuckles. It’s pointless, he’s already seen them, but she’s ashamed that she didn’t think to protect him from seeing them, that now she’s probably going to have to lie about how she did this, because she can’t possibly tell him the truth.

She can’t tell this sweet, innocent little boy that she lost her sanity, fell into despair, that she thought she’d lost it all - her children, her soulmate, her magic, her identity, _everything_. She can’t tell him that she has a history of this, that her hatred of everything she is makes her lash out wildly, that she breaks anything and everything she can reach, that she hurts herself instead of slaughtering entire villages, that she doesn’t know any other way to deal with loss than through violence and brutality. That she’s a volcano - when the pressure gets to be too much she explodes in a blinding cataclysmic eruption, blocking out the sun with toxic fumes and ash, creating a widespread path of devastation all around her before she inevitably collapses in on herself, forming a massive caldera filled with beautiful but deadly acid water, sure to poison anyone who dares to come into contact with her. No, these are not the things you tell a five year old boy.

“Yes,” she lies. “I fell. Do you want more juice, dear?”

* * *

** _ New York - September 13th, 2016 _ **

_Robin is sitting in one of the chairs in the back row at City Hall, watching with rapt attention as Regina finishes presenting the quarterly city budget report. His attention is on **her**, not the budget, though he is trying to listen well enough so as not to be a total prat. He knows how important this is to her, she’s brilliant and more than capable, and according to the numbers in her presentation, the city is flourishing. He cares about her, loves her so much, so even though her presentation doesn’t have his full attention, he’s making sure to catch enough details to know what a bang up job she’s done yet again, so he can correct anyone who dares to suggest otherwise._

_Regina is standing front and center at the podium in a white silk blouse, sharp black blazer and straight leg slacks. She’s wearing strappy, four inch high heels that push her small stature upward into something a bit more intimidating than her usual five feet five inches, her hair is pulled up into a french twist which, in turn, accentuates her newest accessory, a pair of dark framed glasses that she hates, but which are now adorably necessary when she’s reading. Her brow is pinched with seriousness as she starts to field questions on the report from concerned citizens, but she doesn’t fumble a single answer, she responds with the poise and composure of a queen, even when she’s challenged on some of the more touchy subjects. _

_When the meeting wraps up, Robin watches her stride confidently from the raised stage, her back straight, chin up, but just as she reaches the edge, she wobbles awkwardly, then freezes, before she pivots a bit strangely and turns toward the quickly departing crowd. Robin stands up so she can see him, and when her eyes meet his she raises her dark, finely arched brows and bites her bottom lip before jerking her head toward the stage as she mouths the word, “Help,” at him._

_He’s immediately moving toward her, threading through the thick crowd, his eyes never leaving her even though she gives him a sheepish smile, obviously reading his concern and trying to calm him, despite the fact that she’s the one who asked for assistance. He’s to her in a flash, foregoing the stairs in preference of hopping up onto the stage right next to her, one hand landing on her lower back as he steps in close and asks in her ear, “What’s wrong, love?”_

_Regina tips her face toward his, and Robin’s heart stutters when he sees the tell-tale blush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “My shoe,” she whispers, “My heel is broken.”_

_“Say no more, milady,” he smirks, dipping down and scooping her up into his arms, one arm under her legs, one behind her back. “Allow me.”_

_He can tell that she tries not to, but she laughs when he hugs her against his chest and strides quickly off the raised platform, then slips out a nearby door into an empty corridor. “This isn’t really what I had in mind,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck for support. “I intended on asking you to help me balance while I took my shoes off,” she smirks. “But I suppose this will do.” _

_Robin presses a kiss to her temple and tells her simply, “Nothing but the best for you, darling,” then he carries her back to her office to collect her belongings so they can head home for the evening. _

_“Where’d you park?” he asks, “I’ll go bring the car ‘round.”_

_“Oh hell,” she groans, slumping down into the large leather chair behind her desk. “I didn’t. I walked Henry to school this morning, the car’s at home.”_

_Robin grins and crouches down in front of her, then slips both of her high heels off while she watches him with one eyebrow arched in question. “Well,” he winks before he spins around so his back is to her. “You’d best hang on tightly, I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit of a bumpy ride.”_

_“You can’t be serious.”_

_Robin looks at her over his shoulder and shrugs. “You’re certainly welcome to use other means of transportation, darling, but you’ve a ready and willing steed at your service now, and the sooner we depart, the sooner we arrive at your house - which, if I remember correctly, is currently empty.”_

_“Hmm,” she leans forward in her chair and smooths her hands over his shoulders, tracing his shoulder blades through his shirt before rubbing her thumbs firmly along his spine, massaging him. She drops her voice to that sexy low tone he loves, her lips right against his ear and asks, “What does an empty house have to do with anything?” _

_“Saddle up, Your Majesty,” he prompts, “And perhaps you’ll find out.”_

_He’s shocked when she actually does it, shucks her blazer then scrambles up onto his back and wraps her legs around his waist, her arms securely around his neck. Robin is grinning as he hooks the straps of her discarded shoes with two fingers, stands and grabs her briefcase, then heads for the front door of her office._

_They’re halfway down the main corridor when they hear a chorus of people laughing, the sound of footsteps and -_

_“Wait wait wait!” Regina exclaims in a harsh whisper, causing Robin to pull up short as she tugs frantically at his shirt, before steering him into a nearby empty office._

_“Uh, yeah?” he tries and fails to mask the small chuckle that breaks from his lips at their ridiculous behavior._

_Regina drops her forehead to his shoulder, and after a few seconds she asks, her voice quiet, vulnerable, “What if someone sees? What will they say? What will they think?”_

_It’s adorable that her voice is so serious over a matter that, in his opinion, doesn’t require such a tone. He almost laughs at how cute she is but he knows that she’s honestly concerned, that she guards her reputation with extreme care, so he schools his features and does his best not to give away his amusement. _

_“Banish the thought,” Robin tells her, poking his head out into the hallway to make sure the other people have gone, before he turns and heads off in the opposite direction. “No worries, darling, we’ll slip out the side entrance and make a break for it.” _

_When they arrive at the side exit, Robin makes a show of cracking the door open an inch and peeking outside, shifting Regina up on his back as she whispers, “Anyone there?”_

_“The coast appears to be clear of all threats,” he rasps back, purposely jostling her, squeezing her knees and scraping his foot on the ground like an eager race horse pawing at the earth. “Ready?”_

_He feels her laugh against his back, tightening her grip on him before she murmurs, “I can’t believe you talked me into this. Okay, yes, quickly though.”_

_At her command, Robin throws the door open with gusto and takes off at a sprint, tearing across the pristine lawn in the direction of her house while Regina clutches tightly to his back. He slows slightly so he can spin her around, which elicits a loud yelp of surprise from her, so he does it again and gets her really laughing, gets her yelling his name while he acts like a right fool. He loves every second of it, would do anything to get her to laugh and smile and be carefree like this, so he’s chuckling right along with her as they round the far corner of the building and - shit - come face to face with about three dozen townspeople, all of whom look completely shocked at the sight before them. _

_Robin stops moving immediately and Regina digs her fingers into his chest, murmuring a dramatic sounding, “Oh god,” when she sees everyone staring._

_He’s not quite sure what to do, but he figures the damage has already been done, so instead of setting her on her feet, instead of trying to act professional, he turns and takes off again, running at top speed and waving her high heels at them as he shouts, “Pardon us, it’s a shoe-mergency!”_

The dream shifts, Regina’s laughter echoes on the wind and a white fog envelops them as they fade into the distance. When Robin wakes with Regina curled up against him in bed, her smaller body pressed tightly to his back, he can’t help but smile, and to wonder, and to hope - just a little - that maybe _this _dream was real.

* * *

** _ New York - September 14th, 2016 _ **

_It’s lunchtime, and Robin is on his way to surprise Regina at work, a fistful of wildflowers and purple violets for her in one hand, his heart humming with happiness at just the thought of it. He always looks forward to seeing her, is always just a little tongue tied with excitement, but today is different. _

_He’s going to tell her today. _

_He’s been wanting to do it for **ages**, he’s felt it since the moment she kissed him in the forest, if he’s being honest, but he hasn’t had the guts to do it. Not until today. But today is the day. He’s going to tell her, and god, he thinks she just might say it back. Even if she doesn’t, he won’t be upset - he knows that in her way she does, knows how much she’s been hurt, how often she’s been betrayed by those closest to her, how difficult it is for her to open her heart to others. But he can’t not say it anymore, he’s got to tell her, he’s dying to tell her, and he’s got his nerve up for it today, he’s got his courage and his confidence all built up, and he’s going to say it, he is, and then he’s going to spend the rest of his days proving it to her._

_But when he opens the door to her office, his plans fly out the window, the flowers he’s brought fall from his hand, and a series of unexpected emotions fire through him in quick succession - confusion, disbelief, then rage - and he finds that for once, he is not lost for words in her presence._

_“Get your bloody hands off of her!” _

_Across the room, the hands being referenced freeze and two sets of eyes snap toward him. _

_“I said, Get. Your. **Fucking**. Hands. Off-of-her!” Robin takes two aggressive steps toward the large, antique desk in the middle of the room, his hands already balled up into fists._

_“Tell your boyfriend to rethink his tone, Madam Mayor.” _

_The condescending comment comes from a small, impish man in a three piece suit, who, in approximately three seconds, Robin is going murder if he doesn’t do as he says and remove his hands from Regina. _

_The man is bending her over her desk, viciously pinning her down - one hand clutching her right wrist, within which she’s holding a large, feathered pen. The man’s other hand is wrapped around the back of Regina’s neck, cruelly pressing her face into the papers and various other items that are haphazardly scattered across the large, unforgiving surface. There has obviously been a struggle, Regina’s desk is never disorganized, and there are trinkets, broken glass, and various papers littering the floor, which only serve to make Robin’s blood boil as the man continues to hold tightly to her, ignoring his request._

_“It’s alright, Robin,” Regina says, her gorgeous brown eyes steady on his, her voice surprisingly calm. “Be a dear and wait for me in the lobby.”_

_“In the… when you.. are you having a laugh?” he sputters, feeling his face heat. “I’m not going anywhere.” He takes another two steps toward the man that he’s **definitely**_ _going to kill, he’s going to knock his lights right out for laying hands on her, but Regina’s got him stopping in his tracks once again as she calls out to him._

_“Think of Roland,” her tone is firm, commanding. “And Henry.”_

_“Yes, do consider the children,” the other man interjects, twisting his hand around in Regina’s ebony hair, causing her to hiss with pain. “Before you go throwing your life away over something so silly.”_

_The second he hears Regina’s noise of discomfort, Robin’s temper flares, a streak of protectiveness he has always felt for her searing through him like hot iron in his veins. He’ll not stand idle, not when she is in danger, not when she’s being abused right in front of him, he won’t stand for any of this. _

_ “I’ve asked you twice, sir, to take your hands off of her,” he growls, taking another step in their direction, locking eyes with the man. He hears Regina’s protest of “Robin, please, the boys,” but he ignores her. “And if you aren’t willing to remove them yourself, I’m afraid I’ll have to do it for you.”_

_The man leans forward and speaks directly to Regina, “Oh, he sure is a feisty one, isn’t he dearie? Shall I teach him a lesson? Show him what happens to those who threaten the Dark One?”_

_“No!” Regina cries out, and starts struggling beneath the man. Robin sees his opportunity and makes his move, takes another two hard steps and dives at them, his body stretched out to tackle the man, arms reaching wide, his shoulder forward, primed to hit the man with enough force to drive him off of her. Only, the contact never comes, and Robin blinks stupidly for a few seconds before he looks down and sees that he’s been frozen in mid-air. What the hell?_

_“What do you think, Queenie? He’s made no secret of how badly he lusts for you, parading all over town, announcing it to anyone who’ll listen,” the man drawls, forcing Regina’s face to the side so she can see Robin. He wrenches her head back by her hair, exposing the smooth, soft skin of her throat, and a long, curved knife appears in his hand as if by magic. “Maybe we should write his name in your skin, so everyone knows just who you belong to? Hmm? You always did like to be owned, didn’t you?” The man snickers and brings the tip of the blade to Regina’s cheek, and Robin starts screaming._

_“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” he’s panicked, fear making him irrational. “Stop! Please! Take me instead. Do whatever you wish with me, do anything. I’ll do anything!” he offers. _

_“Shut up, you fool,” Regina snaps at him, and Robin is so confused as to why she’s angry with him. He’s trying to save her, trying to help her. He can’t lose her, can’t let anything happen to her; he knows without a doubt that he would never survive the loss._

_“Anything?” The man asks, digging the knife in and cutting a shallow line down the length of Regina’s neck, from her pulse point to her collarbone. The scrape beads blood in little droplets along the path he’s cut, not enough to drip, but enough that Robin can see how sharp the blade is, how close to death his love really is._

_“Anything,” he confirms. “Don’t hurt her, please, don’t hurt her.”_

_“Now that is an interesting offer,” the man sniggers, “But, for the time being I don’t need anything from you, it’s she who has what I need, and I’d nearly had it, until we were so rudely interrupted.”_

_Suddenly, Regina shoves off from the desk, crying out in pain as the curved knife digs into her neck. She manages to knock the small man back and elbow him in the face, though, using enough force to tip him right over on his arse. Then there is a swirl of purple smoke, and Robin lands smack on his belly on the marble tile of Regina’s foyer, a loud **oomph!** expelling from his chest before he groans and rolls over onto his back, where he lays for a moment, trying to re-catch the breath that was just knocked out of his lungs._

****************************

“Wake up!”

The air in his lungs is trapped, he can’t breathe, he starts to panic.

“Robin. Robin!_”_

Something is wrong, he needs to see her face, needs to make sure she’s alright, needs to look at the cut on her neck and make sure she’s not bleeding to death. But he can’t breathe, _fuck_, he can’t breathe.

“Wake up, _wake up!_” His body is being jostled roughly, and after several seconds, his eyes finally flutter open.

It’s dark in his bedroom but he can see Regina clearly, can smell her, can feel her warmth, and his heart skips a beat when he realizes she is here with him.

“Breathe!” she demands, her eyes wild with fright as she shakes him.

Robin tips his head to the side in confusion, then the burning in his chest overwhelms him and he gasps in a huge gulp of air, immediately coughing when the cold influx hits his recently closed airways.

“Oh god,” she pleads, helping him onto his side and rubbing his back vigorously as he tries to catch his breath. “Oh god, please, just, steady now, please, please be okay, _jesus_.”

The feel of her hands stroking soothingly over his back helps, but he can’t shake the dream, can’t forget the image of the knife pressed against her throat, so close to killing her. Robin pushes himself up, his heart hammering erratically against his ribs, his breaths still too fast, too short, but he has to look at her, he has to make sure she’s alright. He frames her face with his shaking hands and tips her chin up so he can inspect her neck, and to his relief there is nothing there - no blood, no wound - nothing but perfect, unmarred skin. Robin leans forward and presses a soft, slow, open-mouthed kiss to the spot he was certain the knife had pierced, his feelings of affection for her burning through his chest and making his eyes water, making the room spin, and suddenly - _christ_ \- he’s back in the dream.

****************************

_“What the **hell** did you think you were doing?” she yells, pacing across the foyer in her black pencil skirt, hands braced high on her waist, brow creased with irritation. The bright fuchsia color of her silk blouse belies the seriousness in her tone, the clack-clack-clack of her heels as she circles around him is a sharp staccato that makes him jump._

_Robin finally catches his breath and gets to his feet, rubbing his bruised sternum. “I believe my intentions were quite clear,” he mutters with exasperation, watching with confusion while she paces. “What’s going on here? You’re seriously angry with me for trying to help you?”_

_Regina spins and throws her hands up in front of her. “You think you helped me?” she snaps, “All you’ve done is make things worse, offering yourself up like that, showing him how weak you are when it comes to me. How could you do this, Robin? What about the boys? How could you be so careless?”_

_“You’re joking,” Robin’s temper spikes. “You’re accusing me of being careless? Mind explaining just what was going on this afternoon? I know you like it rough darling, but unless you’ve started having an affair with that imp, I can’t imagine the way he was restraining you was by choice.”_

_Regina straightens her back and goes very, very still, while Robin’s heart plummets into his stomach. _

_Oh christ. _

_He didn’t mean that, not at all. He immediately knows he’s done for, knows he’s crossed the line - shit - he can’t believe he could have said such a stupid thing to her, especially considering what he had originally intended on telling her today._

_He’s so fucked._

_“Get out,” she snarls, voice low. She’s looking in his direction but he can tell she’s not really seeing him, she’s thrown those walls up he’s worked so hard to bring down for all these months, she's looking right through him now with that redness around her eyes that he recognizes as her attempt to hold back tears. _

_“I didn’t mean that,” he tries. “I’m upset and frightened, and that was an epically terrible thing to say.” He takes a few steps toward her and she tenses up, bracing herself as if he’s about to strike her. God, he hates every single man who has ever given her cause to react like this. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. That was awful of me,” he soothes, “I’m a bloody idiot, but I would never doubt you, never.” _

_He’s right in front of her now, but they’re not quite touching. He knows from experience that he can’t, he needs to let her close the gap on her own or she’ll shut down. Blood streams from the slice in her neck to stain the collar of her shirt, running between the valley of her breasts, and Robin longs to tend to her, to at least get a closer look and make sure that she’s alright. He hates himself for losing his temper, for putting his ego first instead of her; he hates that she’s able to ignore the pain in her neck as if it’s nothing, that she’s grown so used to physical discomfort through the years that she doesn’t seem to notice that she might actually be in danger of bleeding out right now. _

_“You’re an idiot,” she repeats his statement, and he nods solemnly in agreement. Regina rubs her hand across her forehead, then places it lightly on his shoulder. When she touches him he can feel that she’s shaking, and the realization breaks him, has him pulling her close before he can think. He wraps one arm as tightly as possible around her waist, his other hand threading in her hair as he presses kisses to the top of her head and tucks her in against his shoulder. She always acts so tough that sometimes he forgets that underneath that no nonsense exterior is a heart that’s as fragile as blown glass. _

_“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just so worried. Then he had that knife and when he cut you I just lost it. I couldn’t let him hurt you, darling,” he kisses the side of her head, as he whispers, “I can’t lose you.”_

_“You can’t think like that,” she mutters against his shoulder. “You have to think about your family.”_

_“What makes you think that I’m not?” he insists, smiling a bit when she stiffens in his arms. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about.”_

_Regina pushes away from him, her tone nothing but tortured as she utters, “Damnit Robin, don’t say things like that.” _

_At the last second he grabs her hand, and she tries to pull away but he holds tight to it, pulling it to him and placing it over the center of his chest._

_“Don’t,” she warns, her dark eyes flashing._

_“Why not?” he presses hard over her hand, knowing the risk he’s taking, knowing that if she wanted, she could snatch his most vital organ right out of him._

_“Aren’t you afraid?” she whispers._

_“No, I’m not afraid,” he shakes his head, “but,” he takes a steadying breath, “I am in -”_

_Regina’s lips are against his before he finishes his sentence, and though he tries to tell her again, “Darling, I -” she cuts him off, begs him, “Please, don’t say it,” between desperate kisses. In the end, he somehow winds up promising her that he won’t, but they come to an unspoken understanding that the placement of her hand over his heart means the same thing, and for them, it is enough._

****************************

Robin startles, pulls his head back and looks down to see he’s still holding Regina’s face lightly between his hands. She’s looking up at him with concern in her eyes, her hands are wrapped around his wrists, smoothing up and down his forearms.

“The dreams again?”

He nods, then presses another kiss to the spot on her neck where the dream knife had cut her, before he releases her and settles down on his side next to her.

“Will you tell me about it?”

Regina’s expression is so open, not judging in anyway, and he finds that now he wants to tell her. He doesn’t think she’ll believe he’s too crazy, considering all they’ve been through together, and it would be such a relief to talk to someone else about it, to confide his fears about what he’s been experiencing. He figures it’s either her or Roland’s therapist, Dr. Li, and given the choice he’d _much_ prefer to confide in Regina, so he takes a deep breath, and he tells her.

Regina is nothing short of perfect while Robin spills the details about his strange, intense dreams, curled up in bed with her, hidden in the safety of his dark bedroom. She pays rapt attention while holding his hands tightly, asks a few questions but mostly she just listens. He goes all in and tells her everything, tells her how incredibly _real _the dreams feel - he even details some of the erotic parts of them, knowing she’ll blush, though he can’t see it in the dark - because he wants her to know everything, he doesn’t want to keep secrets from her. She doesn’t laugh when he describes his weird medieval dreams, and when he tells her about the recurring nightmare - the one where her fingers slip through his before she disappears entirely, while he screams and begs to say with her - she cries, _sobs_, then apologizes as if it was real and she has something to do with it, as if it was her fault. He’s moved by how upset she is over it, and they have to spend several minutes trading slow, soothing touches, and long, lingering kisses that eventually ease them back into calmness, before they can continue on.

When he at last describes his dream tonight, Robin comes to the conclusion that Regina has the sweetest, purest soul of anyone he’s ever met. It’s as if she feels his pain as her own, and his affection for her practically explodes from him when she reaches out and presses her hand over his heart, mimicking the action from his dream, the action that he just told her meant, _I love you._

“Like this?” she asks innocently, looking up at him through her long, dark eyelashes as she rubs her fingertips lightly over his sternum.

Robin covers her hand with his and nods, scoots closer to her so they’re nearly nose to nose and whispers, “Yeah, just like that, darling.”

He feels her hand start to slide down and his heart rate kicks up. They haven’t tried to do anything more than kissing since the time she ran out, since the time she told him to _take his fucking hands off of her_, and he’s not sure about this, not sure what the rules are. Robin pulls his hand away from hers, not wanting to pressure her into something she’s not ready for but, c_hrist_ he wants her, can’t help but to get just a little bit stiff when her fingertips move down, down, down, to dance across the muscles of his stomach.

They’ve only spent a few nights sharing a bed, but they have this comfort level he can’t explain, so they’ve already taken certain liberties. He’s in just his boxer briefs tonight, while Regina has elected to wear yet another one of his long sleeve t-shirts, but she’s foregone sweatpants or leggings, claiming it’s too hot with the way they like to sleep so close together, so to his supreme torture and delight, her lower half is covered by just her knickers.

“How about this?” she asks, skating her fingers just above the waistband of his underwear.

Robin bites his bottom lip and flexes his fingers, which are itching to touch her, but he resists the urge – he promised her he wouldn’t push. She dips her fingers just under the elastic band and rubs back and forth over the sensitive skin between his hip bones and asks, “Do you like this?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “So much, babe, want you so much.” He tips his chin up in a moment of weakness and bumps the tip of his nose against hers. He wants to kiss her, god, he wants his lips on hers so badly he can almost taste her. Regina seems just as into it as he is, her breaths are quick, puffing softly against his lips, mere centimeters apart as she nuzzles his nose with hers, presses her forehead against his and flattens her palm against his obliques.

“Want you, too,” she whispers, inching her hand beneath his underwear. “Miss you so much, Robin, god, I’ve missed you so much.”

She moves quickly and presses her lips to his in a desperate, open mouthed kiss, which he eagerly accepts, immediately sliding his tongue into her mouth, his heart stopping then stuttering into double-time with excitement as she slides her hand down and circles her fingers around his hard length. Robin sucks in a quick breath through his nose, unwilling to break the kiss, threading his fingers into her thick hair to keep her mouth against his, wanting to steal her breath and give her his, his hips rolling toward her as her fingers teasingly run up and down his thick length.

He drops one hand from her hair to wrap an arm around Regina’s waist, wanting to get her closer, wanting her on top of him, all over him. She’s gorgeous and incredible, inside and out, and when she touches him like this, when she gives him these moments of pure heaven, he gets greedy. He can’t help himself, he just wants to be with her in any way – in _every way_ \- she will allow.

They roll so he’s on his back, and she’s half on top of him. She starts to kiss his neck, his jaw, the length of his collarbones, her hot, wet mouth licking and sucking in all the right places that make his breath catch and his body burn for her. All the while her pretty hand works him up, her thumb teases over the super sensitive head of him – _god_ – spreading his precum around and around before she goes back to stroking him.

“Can I touch…?” he starts, then immediately clamps his mouth shut, belatedly remembering that he’s not supposed to put pressure on her, he’s supposed to let her decide if she wants to go further. But then she slides one leg over his so she’s straddling his thigh, and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep from getting into trouble. He doesn’t trust himself right now, he swears he can feel dampness between her thighs, and _– fuck – _if she’s wet for him – _oh christ_ – how is he supposed to not touch her when she’s got her pretty fingers wrapped around his cock and she’s grinding on his leg?

“Yes,” Regina breathes, nipping along the edge of his pectoral and scraping her fingernails lightly across his ribs. “I… I want you to.”

Robin groans with the opportunity she’s presented him with, but he’s nervous that things will go sideways, that he’ll find a way to cock this up again, so he tries to think clearly, even though she’s moved her hand down and is – _oh, god –_ she’s massaging his balls now. “Wh- where?” he asks, hips jerking toward her when she goes back to stroking him.

Regina kisses her way up from his chest to his lips, slowing their pace as she decides the answer to his question. He can feel a tension in her now that didn’t exist a moment ago, and he almost regrets that he’s asked her, but at the same time, he’s really quite tired of being the only person to take pleasure in their physical relationship. He knows he can make her feel good if she’ll just give him the chance.

“Here,” she breathes, taking his hand in hers and guiding it up to cup her breast over her shirt. “I… don’t want to take my shirt off,” she says quietly, “but you can, um, go underneath if you prefer.”

“What do _you_ prefer?” he asks, reaching up with his other hand to tuck an unruly lock of raven hair behind her ear.

Regina bites her full bottom lip in indecision, and after a few seconds of silence she admits, “Underneath.”

He feels like he could die with excitement, with the thrill of getting his hands on her perfect tits – c_hrist, finally –_ he feels like he’s been dreaming about this for forever. One of them is trembling as he skates his hands down to the hem of her shirt, but he’s not sure if it’s her or him, or perhaps it’s both. Robin slips his fingers up underneath the soft fabric, then lays his hands gently on the bare skin of her waist for a moment so they can adjust to the new sensation. The touch already feels too intense, her skin is perfection under his fingertips, and he’s legitimately worried he might cry, which would be so embarrassing because he’ll have no explanation for why he feels so bloody emotional over something so simple. He’s got to get it together before he makes a fool of himself - if this goes sideways, he just knows she’ll never let him near her again.

Reluctantly, he tugs her hand away from where she’s been doing an excellent job of working him up, stroking his aching length until he’s nearly shuddering with desire, but he needs his wits about him, and the distraction of her talented fingers is _not_ helping.

“Need a break,” he mumbles, “feels too good and I want to focus on you for a bit, if that’s alright?”

She hesitates, looks to the ceiling and runs a hand through her hair before she nods and says, “Okay, but only for a little while.”

He nods, still not understanding her unwillingness to just accept his attention, but he vows to take whatever she’ll give him and make the absolute most of it for her.

Robin returns his hands to her bare stomach and re-starts his ascent, slowly smoothing his palms up, up, up, watching Regina’s face for any signs of discomfort. Her eyes are wary, but still full of heat while she studies him, and he marvels at how the space between her thighs is _so warm_ against his thigh where she’s pressed against him. He aches to shift his leg up, to rub it against her core, just to see how she’ll react, but he doesn’t – it’s too soon, and he can see she’s nervous.

When his hands reach the bottom swells of her breasts, he pauses and asks, “Just hands? Or…” he licks his lips and looks back at her chest instead of finishing the question, and her breath hitches under his hands. _God_. She wants this, he _knows_ she does, and now all he can think about is sucking on her nipples, about scraping lightly over them with the very edges of his teeth, about swirling his tongue around and around the pebbled tips, and before he knows it he adds a, “Please,” to his unspoken request.

“Yes,” she nods, taking his wrists and shoving his hands up, arching back sharply as his palms come into contact with her already hard nipples, which she follows with a desperate, high pitched, “_Oh god._”

Her reaction surprises him – he hadn’t realized she was already so aroused, so he takes a guess at what she needs and pinches the tips of her breasts. The action makes her squirm and jerk against him, her legs spreading as she rubs herself wantonly against his thigh, throwing her head back, her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists but not pushing or pulling, just hanging on, as if she can’t decide what the hell to do. He gives each of her nipples a bit of a twist, then tugs, lets them slip from his fingertips before he grabs for both of her breasts again, his touch rougher than he intended, but she’s already so bloody worked up that she’s writhing on him, and c_hrist_ if she always gets this hot for him, he’ll die a happy man.

“Like that, do you?” he squeezes the thick flesh of her mounds, then repeatedly flicks his fingers over the hard tips of her breasts. Regina moans and rocks her hips on him, smearing the wetness that has soaked right through her knickers all over his thigh. “That make you wet for me?” he asks, “That what’s got you soaking your knickers, love?”

She nods vigorously, her hands shaking as she runs them up to clutch at his forearms while she circles her hips.

Robin takes each of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and starts to pinch and release in quick little pulses, first teasing them in tandem, then alternating the rhythm between them, watching her face the entire time, smirking when her mouth drops open and she starts to pant. A desperate whimper escapes her, she bites down on her bottom lip, and when her hips start to move faster, faster, _faster_ against his leg, it suddenly becomes a very real possibility that he might just get her off like this, and his anticipation of that makes him want to fly through the roof.

“That’s right,” he encourages her, “That’s it, beautiful.” Robin hikes up the bottom of her shirt and circles one hand around to her back to push her toward him as he leans up, his mouth watering when her breasts finally come into view. He pulls on her other peaked tip, pinching and tugging as he draws her closer, and when she’s finally within range, he flicks her unoccupied nipple with his tongue.

She shudders, gasps and threads her fingers through his hair as he pulls her down on top of him, still tugging and pinching one nipple and flicking the other with his tongue, teasing her, letting the cool air hit the wetness he trails all around her areola while he purposely avoids the sensitive tip. She’s panting with her arousal, her fingers flexing in his hair, scratching and tugging lightly while she whispers, _Oh, oh, yes, oh god._

Regina is so wet now it’s obscene, his thigh is slick, her knickers are sopping with the lubrication she’s made for him, and he wishes he could get his fingers in her, or his tongue, or his cock _– god –_ he’d fuck her with a vibrator if that’s what she prefers, he’d give her _anything_ – he just wants her to feel good, wants her to come so hard she sees stars. And then he wants her to come again, and again, and again. As many times as he can make her come, until she can’t come any more. He imagines it, wonders what she looks like, what she feels like when she does, and he sucks her nipple between his lips and moans at the thought. She arches sharply, the vibration must have felt good to her, so he sucks rhythmically on the tight little peak, letting it pop out of his mouth then recapturing it. She’s getting more and more worked up, rocking faster against his thigh, so he starts flicking at her nipple with his tongue then sucking on it again, this time holding the suction and rubbing over the tight little tip, imagining he’s working on her clit instead. His skill earns him a rough, _Oh jesus hah, hah, oh yes_ from her that makes him throb with want, and without thinking he runs one hand down the smooth plane of her back to grab a good handful of her plump arse. He lifts his thigh to press against her soaked core while simultaneously squeezing her arse cheek and pulling her down to grind on him, the action causing a tremor to wrack through her.

Regina suddenly makes a desperate noise and shifts, throwing her leg over to straddle his hips. Her center comes into contact with his rigid length, only their underwear separating them and he’s ultra-sensitive, hasn’t been touched in several minutes, so at the unexpected contact his hips jerk in reaction, accidentally rubbing him against her.

“Ohhh god,” she moans loudly, pressing against him, slowly sliding her core along his hot, stiff length through the thin cotton. “Oh god, Robin,” she whispers, “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

“That’s so good, darling,” he whispers back, massaging her breasts, circling her nipples with his thumbs and ghosting the pads of his fingers over the very tips. He rocks his hips up against her, sliding his length against her core, trying to stimulate her further. “Do you like the way my cock feels when you rub all over it? I can feel how wet you are, you’re soaking through, love, you’re getting my dick ready to fuck you right through our underwear. _God_, I want you so bad.”

“I want you to come,” she says, her voice breathy. “I want it, _oh god_, want you, want you to,” she trails off for a moment, her eyes closed and brow furrowed as she rocks against him, her hands running patterns all over his chest. He doesn’t get how she can be so incredibly sexy but not know the effect she has on him – she’s quite literally the hottest woman he’s ever laid eyes on, not to mention that he’s completely infatuated with her. So no, it’s not going to be difficult for him to get off, especially considering that she’s been rubbing her hot little body all over him for forever. He could burst at any second - it’s through sheer willpower that he’s not a shuddering mess already.

“Ladies first,” he pants, thumbing her nipples.

“Please, Robin,” she pleads, “please come.”

“I will,” he reassures, pinches her nipples hard enough to make her moan and jerk toward him before releasing them. He holds her shirt up and laps at each of the reddened tips with the flat of his tongue, sucks wetly on each one then rolls his hips up. “But not before you.”

She groans, complains, “Jesus, you’re stubborn.”

“_I’m_ stubborn?” he laughs, sliding his hands down her ribs to her hips. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars all it would take right now to make you shatter is my thumb -” he pauses to swirl the pads of his thumbs over the curve of her hip bones, “-pressed against your swollen little clit.”

Regina huffs, mutters something that sounds awfully close to _you would know_, but when he prompts her to repeat herself, she doesn’t. Instead, she rocks her hips against him, then tries to pull his hands back up to her breasts, apparently wanting stimulation away from her sex, but he resists her.

“Regina,” he softens his voice, lifts one hand to cup the side of her face. “Let me do this for you. Please, I promise it will feel good, you’ll feel so, _so _good.”

When her response is simply to shake her head no, drop her head back and look at the ceiling, Robin’s heart plummets. He drops his hands from her hips and he fights the feelings of failure and frustration that well up inside of him.

“It’s me then, is it?” he asks. “You don’t want _me_ to do it?”

Regina’s head snaps down so fast her hair flings into her eyes, and she bites off, “Are you kidding me?”

Robin frowns. “No.”

“Of course it’s not you,” she says irritably, then covers her eyes with her hands, a quiet _dammit_ slipping out on her next breath.

“Forgive me,” he smooths the wild strands of hair out of her eyes, “but I don’t quite understand what keeps happening, I don’t get why you won’t -”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” she interrupts. “I’m _not_ good Robin, I’m _never_ going to be good. And I _shouldn’t_ feel good, I _should never_ feel good. _Ever_. It’s wrong, _so_ wrong, and _jesus_, what was I thinking? I, I was so close to, to, I almost…”

Regina scrambles off of him and tries to get out of bed, but he reaches out desperately for her, grabs her left wrist as she goes and tugs her back. She winces, yelps out a small, “_Ahh!” _of pain for which he immediately apologizes. He didn’t mean to hurt her – god, not at all - but he hates how she always runs when they could simply talk things out.

“_Stop_, stop it,” he pleads, “just stop it this instant!”

She freezes, but she reminds him of a frightened deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes are wide, her expression nothing short of wild, and out of all the incredible things he’s seen in his life, Robin knows without a doubt that he’s never set eyes on anything that could hold a candle to the beautiful disaster in front of him.

“Do you think _I’m_ a good person?” he asks her, frantically trying to figure out a way to get through to her.

Regina’s expression instantly changes when the topic shifts off of her - she is clearly relieved - her eyes soften, the crease in her brow smooths out and she answers him quietly, “Of course I do.” She shifts closer to him on the bed so she can hold both his hands in hers. “You’re wonderful, the very best kind of person, the best.”

“You swear to it?” he asks, “That’s your opinion of me?”

She looks confused, but she nods, says, “Yes, absolutely.”

“And you think I deserve to feel good? You want to make me feel good, you want me to get off, yeah?”

She tilts her head suspiciously and narrows her eyes at him - obviously she’s caught on that he’s going somewhere with this - but she nods anyway.

He can’t believe he’s about to tell her this, can’t believe that in one night he’s not only going to have told her about his insane dreams, but he’s going to tell her about his epic failure as a father, as a husband, as a _man_. Christ, if she doesn’t think he’s a complete nutter after this, nothing is going to scare her off.

“Well I’ve got news for you. This ‘wonderful, best of people’ person isn’t so wonderful. I’m a failure, Regina, I have failed my son in the worst of ways. Because for weeks, _weeks_, I let my crazy ex stay here, I let her scream, and rage, and throw things, and hit me – right in front of my son.” He drops his eyes from hers and looks at the sheets before he continues, his voice much more quiet now. “And you know it’s sad, it’s really sad, because I never believed it could happen to us, so I pretended that it wasn’t. I should have been stronger, I should have done something. But I didn’t. Not even when she was screaming obscenities and tearing the apartment apart, day after day.” He takes a deep breath, looks at his hands and feels the familiar heat of the humiliation wash over him.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” he continues, “No, the worst of it is that I let her scare the life out of Roland for _weeks_ because I was too afraid, too selfish to start over. Don’t get confused, I wasn’t afraid of _Marian_, not really, I was afraid because the thought of starting over, of being alone, of raising my son by myself, was more frightening to me than a few bruises. And I was too bloody-fucking-selfish to think of what I was doing to Roland in the meantime.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “Robin, how? I’m certain that Marian loved you, how could this have happened?” she asks, positively stunned.

Robin doesn’t really understand her comment, as far as he knows, she barely knew Marian from the short time she worked for her, but he shrugs it off. “I let my son suffer, Regina. I let him live in terror for weeks on end because I was too afraid to do anything else. It fucked him up, probably for the rest of his life, and the only reason we’re even sitting here now is because _she_ walked out on _us_, not the other way ‘round.” He drops his head and rubs his eyes. “So you see?” he laughs derisively. “I’m a fucking _terrible_ person. A complete _failure_ as a father. A bloody coward. If anyone here deserves to be _punished_, it’s _me_.”

He shakes his head and tries to collect himself, but then he feels her hands on the sides of his neck, pulling him to her as she murmurs, “No, no baby, no,” and he goes to her – wraps his arms tightly around her waist and shifts until he’s sitting back against the headboard and she’s in his lap, facing him, with her knees on either side of his hips. They sit quietly this way for a long time, their foreheads tucked in against the side of each other’s neck, arms locked around one another, emotions raw and raging between them.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells him softly, kissing his cheek, his temple, his ear. He tries to deny it, his voice equally low, but she talks over him, “It’s _not_, oh Robin, it’s not, you did the best you could. You are not to blame for this, you are _not _to blame. You are so good, please believe me, you’re so good.”

She kisses his lips and repeats herself, _You are so good_, over and over against his mouth between kisses, until he can’t take it anymore, he has to tell her the same. He starts to kiss her back with fervor, his mouth moving more and more aggressively against hers, his lips pulling and pushing, his tongue swiping and diving between her swollen lips, his teeth dragging across the tender flesh, until they’re both breathless from it.

Then he pulls back, threads his fingers in her thick onyx hair and he tells her, too.

“_You_ are so good,” Regina starts to protest but Robin kisses her until she shuts up, then he starts again. “Whatever happened, whatever horrible event occurred that keeps driving you to feel that you’re not - it’s not your fault,” he insists, keeping his voice soft, as he mimics her actions - kisses her cheek, her temple, her ear. Regina begins to protest once more, but he silences her with more kisses, slides his tongue against hers until he wears the muscle out, then he pulls back and pants, “You are not to blame, darling. You did the best you could. What’s in the past is past. You’re here with me and right now, you are so good, please believe me, you’re so good.”

Robin kisses her lips once, but then he pulls back and holds eye contact with Regina for a long moment. He needs her to believe him. They need to put this to rest.

After what feels like an eternity, she nods. Robin hugs her close again, kisses the crown of her head and murmurs, “We’re together now - and I _know _that what we have is _good_ and it’s _true_,” then he buries his nose in her thick hair. Regina smells so good, like honey crisp apples, incense, and yes, a bit of sex now too - a heady combination, one he’d be ecstatic to get lost in every day. He feels calm when he holds her, even though he’s raw from his confessions, because for the first time since he’s met her, Robin feels hopeful about their relationship. He feels like the puzzle pieces are finally clicking into place, and _christ_, from the little bit he can make out, he can already tell the picture being recreated is positively _stunning_.

* * *

** _ New York - September 15th, 2016 _ **

_“He’s at a critical stage in his development,” the Queen snaps, “He needs fresh vegetables, fruits, and protein with **every **meal.”_

_“I beg your pardon, milady, but I refuse to believe one breakfast of cinnamon bread is going to stunt Roland for life,” Robin smirks, speeding his steps to try to keep pace with her as she storms down the corridor, her tall boots clacking loudly against the polished flagstone, hidden beneath the intricately beaded black dress she’s wearing today. Her hair is half up, half down, the long, thick tresses falling well below her shoulders, almost an exact match in color to her dress, and it’s all a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin, which is shown off by the deep vee of her diamond studded neckline._

_The Queen scoffs. “You know very well that it’s **not **just one instance, Thief, it’s nearly every meal – that boy’s teeth are in serious danger of rotting right out of his poor little head, thanks to the amount of sugar you all are so intent on pouring down his throat at every opportunity.”_

_“I happen to know for a fact that Roland’s teeth are in excellent condition,” he defends, fighting down yet another smile. “Honestly, it’s just a couple of pastries, darling, it’s not like we’re feeding him frosting from a trough,” he jokes. Robin makes the mistake of smiling at her when he says this last bit, and he watches her temper rise, right along with the red flush in her cheeks._

_“This is serious!” she snaps, wheeling on him when they reach the end of the corridor, causing him to pull up sharply so he doesn’t run right into her. “This is your child, Robin, your son. How can you not be more concerned about this? This should be your first priority, you should be doing **everything **you can to ensure he’s receiving the proper care he deserves. You have an entire royal kitchen at your disposal, and you’re wasting it, throwing it all away like it’s a joke –”_

_“Hold up,” he interrupts, as he straightens, his temper hot. She’s just crossed the line, and she bloody well knows it. “Do you even realize what you’ve just said to me?” Robin’s gaze is hard as steel on hers._

_The Queen, true to form, doesn’t give an inch. She says nothing, tips her chin up defiantly and looks down her nose at him._

_“Allow me to summarize for you,” Robin snaps, angry now. “You just made the leap that because I let my son have **one piece** of cinnamon bread for breakfast this morning, that I’m now completely unconcerned about his health, that he’s no longer a priority in my life, and I couldn’t care less about his well-being. You’ve just called me a rotten bastard of a father.”_

_“You’re deflecting,” she accuses, eyes narrowed. “Stop trying to make this about yourself. Your self-pity won’t work on me.”_

_Robin barks out a laugh in disbelief. “If anyone is making this about themselves, Your Majesty, it’s **you**.” He points his finger at her, “You’re missing your lad, doubting your own parenting, so you’re overreacting about Roland and taking out your frustration on me - **that’s **what’s happening here.”_

_“How **dare **you bring up my son,” she growls. “Henry has nothing to do with this. You just don’t want to admit that I’m right.”_

_“Nor will I,” he says firmly. “Because you’re not.”_

_“Yes I am,” she retorts, “But I should never have expected a common thief to understand the intricacies of an appropriate diet for a young boy. So I’ll take the fault in that.” The Queen tosses him a look of complete disdain, then starts to storm off down the corridor in the direction of her royal bedchambers, but Robin is too irritated to let their disagreement end there. There’s more to this, and he’s got to get to the bottom of it now._

_“What’s this really about?” he calls after her. “Why should you care what one peasant boy eats for supper? Might I remind you that you’re the Queen of the Enchanted Forest? Why should it matter if Roland has sweets or if he starves, if his teeth rot out of his head, or if he has belly aches for days?” Robin is purposely goading her – he knows she cares about Roland, but she always pretends as if she doesn’t care about anyone. The Queen has issues that she buries deeply when it comes to her emotions, and he’s about to start digging. _

_Lucky for him, his comment does exactly what he’d hoped it would do – it gets her to stop mid-stride with her back to him, so he continues to provoke her._

_“It just doesn’t make sense,” he continues, playing dumb. “My son’s diet shouldn’t warrant a second thought from a woman in your position, and it certainly shouldn’t evoke something as important as a royal decree to detail the ‘approved menu items for children residing within the castle’.” Robin crosses his arms and leans casually against the wall of the corridor. “If I didn’t know better, Your Majesty, I might think you were going soft for Roland. I might think he has you wrapped around his little finger.”_

_The Queen pivots on her heel and comes stomping back at him like a billowing black thundercloud, her face scrunched up in anger, golden brown eyes flashing as she gets right up in his face._

_“You don’t know anything about anything, Thief!” she snarls, poking him in the chest. “And if you’d like to keep your heart, you’ll do well to remember who you’re speaking to when you start making ridiculous accusations. I couldn’t care less about either of you.”_

_He catches her error immediately – he had only intended on getting her to admit that she cared about Roland, but now it appears she might be harboring some of the feelings he’s been having about her for months, and she’s just accidentally admitted it. Robin raises his eyebrows and grins._

_“Now who said anything about having feelings for **me**?” he asks, watching with amusement as her cheeks flush prettily and she glances about, her eyes a bit wild as she tries to formulate her reply._

_“I… no one… stop twisting my words,” she snarls, curling up her lip and shaking her hair back as her cheeks continue to redden. Robin follows the blush down her neck, all the way to the swells of her breasts, where her dress has pressed them together rather alluringly, and the collar of his shirt suddenly feels too tight. **Christ **she’s pretty when she’s all riled up._

_“I haven’t twisted anything,” he argues, his smile broadening. “You’re the one who said you had feelings for me.”_

_“I did not!” she gasps, frantically looking up and down the hallway for eavesdroppers as if he’s just spilled state secrets. “Be quiet, you fool, or someone will overhear you and think you’re being serious.”_

_“I am being serious,” he shrugs. “Are you going to deny that you care about Roland?” he asks. “Can you really look me in the eye and say that after all these months, after all the time you’ve spent with him, you **don’t **love my son?”_

_Regina opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it without giving him an answer. The fact that he’s made the Queen speechless is answer enough._

_“That’s what I thought.” Robin knows he’s pushing his luck but he’s starting to get excited, starting to really think that she might like him too (she’d have incinerated him already if she didn’t, right?) and god, the idea of her having feelings for him is just too bloody wonderful for him to comprehend._

_“So that just leaves the question of how you feel about me,” he says quietly, shoving off from the wall and stepping closer to her._

_The Queen doesn’t back away, she’s never one to retreat from a battle, but he can tell she’s uncomfortable and he feels quite bad about that. He’s hoping to put her at ease in a moment, though, he just needs her to be reasonable for a few minutes, and then hopefully she’ll never have to feel uncomfortable in his presence again._

_“How about we play a little game?” he suggests, taking another half of a step toward her, so they’re nearly chest to chest._

_“I don’t have time for games,” she snaps, “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a kingdom to run.” Robin expects Regina to push him away, or to walk away, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t move **at all**, actually, so he tentatively reaches for her hand, and when she allows him to take it, he breaths just a little easier._

_“I am well aware of your busy schedule, milady,” he smooths his thumb over the back of her hand, “but surely you’ve time to win a match of wits against a **common thief** before returning to your duties, yeah?”_

_He tries not to smile but he knows that his eyes give him away, just like the small lines at the corners of her eyes give away her shift to her now deceptively playful temper. He can’t help but think that, **god**, just like the rumors about her, her beauty truly is unmatched. When she nods her agreement, Robin lets his smile break and he kisses the back of her hand, before he tells her, “The game is simple. I will ask a series of questions, let’s say… five - and for each one, you can either tell me the truth, or you can pay me off with a kiss.”_

_Regina’s brows shoot up, and she laughs. “Your game is flawed, thief,” she lowers her voice, takes the lapel of his tunic firmly in one hand, and tugs him close. “It’s not as if we haven’t kissed before,” she murmurs, her lips nearly against his, “What makes you think you’ll get any truthful answers from me?”_

_She’s right, of course. They’ve had many kisses over the past few months, kisses that stemmed from anger, frustration, and desperation that grew into something more, something sweeter, something that has almost felt like friendship these past few weeks. Their touches haven’t lost their heat but they’ve lost their carelessness – her nails no longer bite into his neck when she pulls his head down to kiss her, instead, they scratch against his scalp in a way that sends shivers down his back. When he sucks wetly against the smooth swells of her breasts, he almost never marks her now unless she asks him to, a request that has come less and less often with each passing day._

_“Because if you give me three truthful answers,” Robin slips one arm around her waist and drops his lips to the top of her shoulder, where he takes a moment to lick and nip and kiss her warm, smooth skin before he continues. “I’ll get down on my knees,” he sucks hotly on her pulse point, “and I’ll lift up your skirt,” he kisses along her jawline and up to her ear, “and I’ll lick your regal cunt, right here in the hallway, until your pretty ears ring.”_

_Her breath whooshes out when he tugs her earlobe between his teeth, and Robin smirks with his victory before threading his fingers into the silky onyx strands of hair at the nape of her neck. He tilts her head to the side and presses more kisses down her throat, then right back up, stopping just when he reaches her lips. Regina’s mouth is open, waiting and eager for him, so he purposely resists, bumps her nose with his instead of kissing her and asks, “Shall we play?”_

_The Queen licks her lips, and they’re so close together that her tongue brushes his lips as well, which makes him stifle a little moan of arousal. He bets she’s fantastic with her tongue – **christ **– what he wouldn’t give to find out._

_“Alright,” she smirks, her nose scrunched and one eyebrow raised with amusement. “Fire away.”_

_He should probably feel worse about what he’s about to ask her, but somehow, he can’t quite find it in him - he’s too excited to see if she’ll answer._

_“When was the last time you masturbated, and what were you thinking of when you did it?” he asks, placing his hands on her hips and walking her backward toward the nearest wall. _

_“Jesus Robin!” she gasps, fisting his tunic in her soft hands and going up on her tip-toes to look over his shoulder, once again trying to discern if anyone is spying on them. “Keep your voice down if you’re going to spout such obscenities.”_

_Robin just chuckles at her embarrassment and slides his hands up to her ribs while he patiently waits for her answer. She thinks hard for a moment, rubs a hand over her forehead in what he knows is an attempt to hide the bright red flush in her face, then she quickly wraps her hand around the back of his neck and presses her lips to his. For Regina, the kiss she gives him in place of an answer is almost shy, and his pulse trips with amusement over the thought that he’s actually managed to ruffle her feathers for once. He wonders what her answer would have been, and decides he’ll try to get it out of her again, later, if all goes as planned._

_One question down, four to go._

_“Most times you’ve orgasmed in one night?” he smirks, bringing one hand up to run through her long tresses, letting the thick, heavy strands slowly slip through his fingers. Regina’s back is pressed against the wall but she’s leaning into him, her fingers hooked in his belt while she looks up at him through her thick eyelashes._

_“Three,” she says simply._

_Robin pulls back - surely she’s kidding - he can give her three in his sleep for christ’s sake._

_“Sorry darling, I meant over the course of an entire evening, not just one round,” he clarifies._

_Regina purses her lips and drops her eyes to his chest, but doesn’t give him anything more in response._

_“Oh,” he says, rather dumbly, and then, because he’s a prat, “Still just three then?”_

_“Mmhmm,” Regina traces the line of his jaw with the bridge of her nose, her warm breath tickling his neck, and Robin has a swell of affection so strongly for her that he has to fight the urge to drop to his knees and give her **four** right now. It’s a bloody crime that her all-time high is three. He vows to triple it. To quadruple it._

_“I’m a Queen, Robin,” she reminds him, her voice serious and quiet. “You’ll find that contrary to the rumors, the time and energy I have available for all-night sex marathons is rather limited.”_

_Robin nods and presses his body against hers, cupping her cheek and running his thumb over her smooth, soft skin. “Answer two more questions, Your Majesty,” he whispers, kisses her with achingly slow sweetness then finishes, “And I’ll break your record, right here, right now.”_

_Regina smiles as if she thinks he’s just teasing her, then she seems to realize he’s not, and her smile turns beautifully shy. She ducks her head and laughs against him, covers his hand with her warmer, smaller one, her soft fingers stroking lightly before she asks, “Well? What’re you waiting for?” Her voice is breathy, excited, when she commands, “Ask me.”_

_Robin trails a path of kisses from the corner of her jaw to her clavicle. “Most inappropriate place you’ve had sex?” _

_“Aside from this one?” she teases. _

_Robin laughs, then tells her, “Obviously,” before he presses, warm, wet kisses from the end of one collarbone all the way to the end of the other._

_Regina hums, fists her hands in the leather of his tunic and pulls him closer, then cups his face and kisses him hard on the lips, passing on the question instead of answering it._

_Robin was not expecting her to pass on that one - he actually thought that was a rather tame inquiry, and now he’s unexpectedly intrigued by her avoidance. He makes a mental note for the future to discover what location the Queen had her secret tryst in, so that someday he can top it._

_He has to think quickly then, because the point of the game was to make her want to answer three questions, not bow out early because they were too tough, so he throws her an easy one - asking, “Milk chocolate or dark chocolate?”_

_Regina rolls her eyes, but she gives him a pretty little smile and says, “Dark,” before she adds arrogantly, “Of course.”_

_Robin threads his fingers through hers as he agrees, “Of course,” right along with her. _

_It’s time to ask his final question then, so he brings her hands up and presses kisses to the backs of them, before he tucks them into his chest and holds on tightly. He steps in close to her so that their bodies are pressed together, steals a kiss from her soft, sweet lips, touches his forehead to hers and asks, “Do you have feelings of affection for me, just as I have those feelings for you?”_

_It’s the longest pause in all of history - he’s sure of it. Regina has gone stone still in front of him, even though he knows that she knew this question was coming. There’s no way she didn’t realize it, she’s much too clever to be outwitted by a fool like him. He’s hoping her competitive nature will get the better of her though - she’s answered two of the questions and avoided two, so if she wants to win the game she’s got to answer him. He’s done his best to tempt her with his promises, tried to get her blood racing, her desire heightened, and he prays it’s enough. While Robin hasn’t been with a lot of women, he’s extremely well practiced with those he has, and he’s confident he can deliver on what he’s promised the Queen. He knows he can do this for her, he can bring her some reprieve from the stress that constantly plagues her, and he’d give his left foot for a chance to erase those worry lines from her forehead and the corners of her eyes, if only for a few moments. He truly cares about her, considers her a friend, would love for her to be more than that, would love to **love** her, if she’ll only allow it. He’s in deep, has it bad for her, and he’s terrified that she considers him just another plaything on her list of fuckwit boy toys. _

_However, Robin is not an idiot, he knows he’s taking a risk with her. He’s heard the rumors about the Queen, though they’re a bit hard to believe now that he knows her. The villagers say that before the curse, she used to keep a vast collection of handsome young men in her service, all of whose hearts she had ripped out so that she could control them, and she used them, mercilessly **abused** them to satisfy her insatiable carnal desires. It was something that was snickered about in taverns when the hour got late, the ale had been flowing, and the lithe figure of the Queen inevitably came up. However, the fear of the monarch never once elicited a casual volunteer from any of the men, for it was also rumored that when she grew tired of her servicemen, they turned up dead - one way or another - though suicide was most often cited as the cause. _

_Now, though, standing so close to her, having been allowed to share a few dozen kisses, to breathe her heady scent and taste the smooth skin of her neck and chest, Robin has to admit that it would feel like torture to be sent from her presence. He can understand why a man might wish death in the place of banishment if he were to be sent away from her, and he is certain that he couldn’t bear to be apart from her after only a few months of knowing her, of just barely scratching the surface of being allowed to love her._

_“Yes,” she whispers, squeezing his hands tightly, as if she’s terrified he’s about to let go, as if he’ll push her away now that she’s admitted this to him. “I feel things for you.”_

_Robin wants her simple statement to be enough, he knows how hard this must be for her from what little he knows of her past, but he also doesn’t want there to be any confusion between them, so he pulls his head back so he can see her face better and asks, “You feel affection for me?”_

_She nods enthusiastically, but the look of pure anguish in her expression is **not** what he expects to see._

_“Oh, darling,” he whispers, “Whatever is wrong?” Robin tries to release her hands so he can touch her face or wrap her up in his arms, but she won’t let go._

_“We shouldn’t,” she brings her dark eyes to his. “Especially you. Don’t you know who I am? What I’ve done?”_

_Regina says this with such conviction in her voice that his heart breaks. How can she not see all of the good she’s done? All of the good that lives inside of her?_

_“I know what an amazing mother and friend you are,” he smiles, gently getting her to let go of his hands so he can roll up his sleeves, “I know what an incredible wielder of magic, and what a brilliant leader you are.” Regina glances down just as he shoves his cuffs to his elbows, and she snatches up his wrist in a punishing grip, her eyes going wide as she stares at his tattoo. She doesn’t interrupt him, however, so he continues with his speech. _

_“I know what you’re working so hard to do,” he brings his other hand up to smooth a few stray hairs out of her eyes, then cups her cheek. “And, yes, I know what you’ve done,” he kisses her softly, and she’s delayed in kissing him back, still staring at his tattoo like she’s stunned, so he kisses her again, again, again - until she’s back in sync with him, her attention is no longer on the black ink, but on his lips, and her hand is no longer on his wrist, but wrapped around the back of his neck, clutching him firmly to her._

_“All of which is why I feel the way I feel,” he rasps, smoothing his hands up and down the frame of her ribs. _

_Regina is breathing unnaturally fast against him, and he’s not really sure what’s going on, but she’s obviously having some sort of little war with herself. He waits her out, stays still and patient and silent, knowing she’s strong and she’ll tell him if she needs him to do something. Sure enough, after another moment she steadies, then tips her head up and kisses him as if she’s just decided something, so he takes his chance and lowers himself to his knees before her, taking her hands and kissing both of her palms on his way down._

_Regina tries to speak, pauses to clear her throat, then asks quietly, “What are you doing?”_

_Robin settles on his knees, sitting back on his heels and grinning brightly up at her. “Delivering on my promise. You won the game, love, and it’s my pleasure to pay up.”_

_Her cheeks flush bright red, she lifts her eyes to the ceiling and mutters, “Oh god,” as Robin reaches for her ankle and pulls her foot up onto his thigh._

_“Calling out to the deities already?” he teases, wrapping both hands around her calf, just above her ankle boot and smoothing them up, up, up until he reaches the top of her thigh-high stocking, where he unclasps the garters he finds before rolling it down. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”_

***********************

Regina inhales deeply, breathing in the foresty scent of Robin’s sheets and snuggling into her pillow as she slowly blinks the sleep from her eyes. She’s warm where Robin is pressed tightly against her back, nuzzling her neck sweetly with his nose while he spoons her. His legs are tucked up against hers, his right arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his hand open and fingers rubbing gently along the soft skin of her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. She’s more comfortable than she can remember being in ages, her nerves calm and mind quiet, and she can think of no better word to describe how she’s feeling than _tranquil_.

Robin shifts behind her, a little rock of his hips that bumps against her ass, and Regina fights down a smirk. He’s hard for her, but it’s an innocent action - she knows he’s asleep, she can tell from his deep, even breathing that he’s caught in some sort of dream, unaware of what he’s doing as his fingers slowly skate lower on her stomach. He murmurs her name into her hair and she breaks into a smile at the roughness in his tone, at the way he presses his entire body closer to hers and inhales deeply. It feels incredible to lay with him like this in the early morning light, it feels beautifully _normal_. It reminds her of when they were together in Storybrooke, of when they were just two people taking time to cuddle before coffee and showers and getting their boys ready for school. Regina winces - the old memories are blindingly painful - and she’s about to pull away, about to reprimand herself like she usually does, but then she thinks of their conversation last night, and she hesitates. She reminds herself that she trusts Robin, she even trusts his judgement of _her_, so instead of fighting against this little slice of happiness, for the first time since she came to New York, she allows herself to live in it.

She rolls in his arms so she’s facing him, scooting in close and running her hands up his chest. Beneath the blanket, Robin’s arm is still around her, his hand at her lower back, and he tugs her closer, pressing his face to the crown of her head, murmuring, “G’morning,” in a way that makes it clear he has absolutely no intention of waking up.

Regina smiles against where he has tucked her in against him and slides her hands down his ribs and around to hug him closer. She tips her face up to kiss the rough, stubbled underside of his chin as she whispers back, “Yes, it is.”

Robin merely grunts in response and tightens his arm around her, snuggling against her like she’s his own personal body pillow, and she fights down a little wave of laughter that threatens to bubble up from her chest. She’d forgotten how ridiculous he is in the morning and, for a man who lived in the forest for most of his life, how strange it is that he hates waking up early. Regina swirls her fingertips over his back in little patterns, kisses along the bottom edge of his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone, then further to nip and drag her teeth across the thick muscle of his pectoral. He starts to come around quite quickly after that, especially when she smooths her hand across his abs, then lower still to tease along the waistband of his Calvin Klein's.

“Trouble, you are,” he murmurs, squeezing her hip but not otherwise making a move on her. It occurs to Regina that in spite of the early hour and his half-conscious state, Robin is being a gentleman, honoring his promise of not rushing things between them. She didn’t know it was possible, but it makes her love him even more.

“You have no idea, my dear,” she smiles ruefully against his chest and presses a kiss over his heart. Reaching back, she puts her hand over his and guides it forward until she has moved his hand to rest on the top of her thigh. Slowly, so he knows she’s doing this intentionally, she squeezes his fingers around her leg, then pushes his hand up higher… higher… higher… until he reaches the edge of her panties. Regina takes a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm herself – she’s so nervous, god - but she’s also relieved, excited even, to finally allow him to give her what she has been denying them for so long.

She slides up the bed so that their faces are aligned and presses a soft, slow kiss to his lips. His bright blue eyes are full of lust and uncertainty, and it makes her heart clench, makes her bite her bottom lip before she kisses him again and tentatively slips her tongue into his mouth. Carefully, she guides his fingers beneath the edge of her underwear, and Robin moans softly when his fingers graze over her slit, easily gliding through the wetness he finds there. She encourages him, presses his fingers more firmly to her core with her own hand and breathes, “I want you, Robin, please, I want you to make me come.”

He groans a quiet, “Thank the gods,” before he kisses her again, then with infinite patience, he leisurely runs his fingers up and down… up and down… up and down through her slick folds, gradually spreading the evidence of her arousal up to her clit, where he eventually starts to rub lazy, firm little circles. Regina exhales a deep breath and hikes her leg up over his hip to give him more room, already swollen under the stroke and press of his fingers as he slips and slides through her center, her body unused to being touched even by her own hands and already _so_ sensitive that it makes her tremble with arousal. They kiss deeply, unhurriedly, lips pulling and tongues sliding sweetly against each other while Regina holds tightly to Robin’s biceps, trying to ground herself as her arousal builds, throbbing in her core with each beat of her heart.

It feels so good that she starts to roll her hips, instinct taking over where her out of practice brain has stopped working, and her enthusiasm isn’t lost on Robin. He’s always so observant, is always studying her reactions, always aware of what she needs, so it’s no surprise when speeds up on her clit for her. It makes her moan softly, ducking her head to press kisses to his chest, her fingers squeezing his arms tightly, her cheeks flushed red when she huffs out an embarrassing, “_hahh,”_ as her clit pulses and she jerks her hips toward him without meaning to. He doesn’t say a word though, he just slides one finger down and runs it through the vast amount of wetness she’s made for him, thoroughly coating it before he slowly, carefully dips it inside of her, testing her readiness. He gives her a few little thrusts, searching for that spot that hasn’t been stimulated in forever, and when he hits it she bites down hard on her lip but still makes this high-pitched whine that gets caught in her throat, her hips betraying her and wantonly rolling toward his hand, begging for more, making Robin groan quietly at her desperate display.

“_Christ,_ you’re beautiful,” he whispers, dropping his mouth to her neck and sucking warm, wet kisses, then scraping his teeth across her pulse point. He slips his finger from her and gives her clit a few firm swipes then dips back down and cautiously adds a second, thick finger, sliding them both up into her with extreme care. “This alright?” he checks, and at her nod, he starts pumping them slowly in and out, curling and wiggling his skilled digits while she takes in a deep breath and exhales a quiet, _“Ohhh,”_ at the welcomed, pleasurable intrusion.

Robin continues to work his fingers into her gently, going deep and steady with each stroke, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin just below her ear, causing her to shiver and goosebumps to break across her chest and neck. It feels so wonderful, she’s slick and dripping for him, warm everywhere, euphoric and caught up in the pleasure he’s so patiently bringing her. She tries to relax, forces herself to loosen her death-grip on his arms and finally remembers to give pleasure back to him. Regina strokes her hands lovingly along his shoulders and neck, runs her fingers through his hair and scratches his neck and scalp with her nails, smiling softly when she pulls a little shiver from him. Robin shifts slightly, kisses her collarbone and changes the angle of his wrist, pumping his fingers _just right,_ tapping at that sensitive spot that makes white hot sparks of pleasure flare from her groin, up, up, up to the tips of her breasts. Regina’s breath catches, she arches her back, tries to get friction against her chest and Robin catches on quickly - he nips and sucks warm, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, then urges her onto her back and leans over her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth deeply as he drives his fingers steadily in and out of her and brings them chest to chest.

She’s starting to shake from the sensory overload of allowing him this close - Robin’s sweet tongue flicks teasingly against hers, his scent fills her lungs, he is a vision of masculine perfection above her, his voice a deep rumble that raises goosebumps across her body and makes her shiver with anticipation. Her hands twist in the sheets, she’s embarrassingly close to orgasm from just the few intimate touches he’s given her, finding it hard to focus on anything except the steady build of tingling pleasure between her thighs. There’s something missing though, and it takes her a moment to figure it out, but she realizes that she needs to feel him against her - skin on skin. She’s gone too long without this, she’s denied herself this man for so long that she can’t function without his hot body pressed right against hers, so she pushes up on his shoulder, shimmies out of her panties and tugs her shirt over her head, then starts to pull him back down on top of her, telling him, “Need to feel you, I just, I need you on me.”

Robin immediately stretches out on top of her, leaving his underwear on but pressing his heavy, warm body directly onto hers, their chests and stomachs touching as he kisses her deeply. Regina wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly to her, spreading her thighs and feeling the heavy, familiar weight of him settle against her core. _God_, she loves this position with him, he doesn’t know it but they’ve done it this way dozens of times, and she loves to feel the way he moves above her, the way the thick, bulky muscles in his back and shoulders bunch and flex, the way the cords in his arms ripple. He’s so powerful but always so controlled, and when she’s under him he has a way of making her feel safe and protected - not smothered or trapped like she’s felt with other men. She trusts him with her body like she trusts him with her heart - explicitly - so Regina willingly puts herself in his hands, knowing that he will take much better care of her than she ever could. She wraps her legs around his hips and arches her body up against him, gasping when he slides his hands to her thighs to hold her to him while he grinds his hardness against her, rubbing her through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, the confident, steady rock of his hips a promise of what he’s willing to give her, if only she were to ask.

She’s about to, she’s one second from shoving those CK’s down his hips when Robin smooths his hands up her body - thighs to hips to ribs - and dips his head down so he can suck and lick at her neck, chest, and breasts. His actions steal the breath from her lungs, and Regina finds she can’t say anything, especially not when he pauses to tease her nipples into tight peaks while he reaches down to rub her clit with the calloused pads of two fingers. So instead, she runs her hands through his hair and down his thick neck, over his heavily muscled shoulders, and gasps out a little _“Oooh,” _when he slides two fingers back up inside of her and starts to thrust them.

“How’s that, darling?” he asks, sucking on her nipple then flicking at it with his tongue. He curls his fingers inside of her and starts to rap them against her front wall, which makes her hips buck and thighs spread further for him. God she’s wet, she’s _soaked_ for him and getting more so by the second. “Mm, I think you like that, yeah?”

She nods enthusiastically, tips her hips up and breathes a quiet, “Yeah.”

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against her breast, pressing kisses along the swell of one before switching to the other and laving the flat of his tongue over her other nipple. He increases the pace of his fingers inside of her, driving them deep and keeping them there, rubbing quick and steady right against her g-spot, and Regina arches up under him in response. “Oh, that’s it,” he praises, pulls her nipple between his lips and sucks hard, swirls his tongue around and around before letting go. “Getting close now, aren’t you?”

Robin doesn’t wait for her answer - he gives her several quick thrusts with his fingers then pulls them out and starts to slide down her body, dotting kisses along her ribs, stomach, and hips as he goes, nipping at her and getting her to elicit little moans when he – _mmm _– sucks or bites at a particularly sensitive spot of her body. Once he’s situated between her legs, he presses his large hands to her shaking inner thighs, spreading her wide and running his thumbs along her outer lips, teasing and massaging her. He takes his time stroking her there, kneading the swollen, sensitive flesh steadily, teasing her as she squirms with anticipation. Just when she feels like she might explode with the desire he’s built, he gently pulls her folds apart and moans, licks his lips lasciviously and throws her a look as if he believes she’s been purposely torturing him by denying him this, then he drops his head and drags the flat of his tongue _slow-slow-slowly_ through her slit.

All the air rushes from Regina’s lungs, she drops her head back dramatically and rolls her eyes heavenward. _Oh god_ that’s good.

Robin licks her again, slow and firm, but this time he closes his lips around her clit at the end and gives it a long, sucking pull before he drops back down to repeat the process, and Regina keens so desperately that she actually hears him laugh from his position between her thighs.

“Shut up,” she gasps, embarrassed, the attitude of the Queen surfacing for the first time in a _very_ long time. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“I’m not, I swear,” he promises, licks her again and Regina can positively hear the grin in his voice when she can’t stop the high pitched whine from escaping from her once again. “I’m just ecstatic that I’ve somehow managed to get you to make such a salacious sound. Make it again for me, darling. _Christ_, that’s hot.”

Regina whimpers as he picks up the pace; she brings one hand up to cover her mouth in an attempt to stop the lustful noises from spilling out and threads the other in his hair to keep him exactly where he is. She’s usually not this vocal, _god_, usually she has some self-respect but it’s been _so_ long and – _ohhh_ – now he’s-he’s-he’s rubbing her clit with his tongue and she feels like she’s on fire for him, so sensitive that she can’t quite stop the little moans from bubbling up from her chest. Every wet sucking pull and hot, slick rub of Robin’s tongue against her clit pushes her quickly toward her release, and she’s almost there when, with nearly perfect timing, Robin slides two fingers back inside of her and starts to thrust them hard and fast, _relentlessly_, against her g-spot – _oh god oh god_ – her legs start to shake – _fuck _– a hot flush breaks across her chest and she’s so, so close now, any second - _oh god_. Suddenly she gets that first intense throb of pleasure in her clit and she knows she’s done for – her orgasm crashes over her, she arches her back, her hips buck and she shivers as she succumbs to wave after wave of pleasure, wringing Robin’s fingers while he pumps them in and out of her. Regina reaches blindly for him with her left hand and feels him weave his fingers through hers, grounding her while he continues to work his talented mouth against her, causing more of the wet heat to pool and throb in her core as her internal muscles clench and release in pleasure.

When she starts to come down, he carefully pulls his mouth and fingers from her, then starts pressing kisses to her thighs and stomach. The rasp of his beard against her skin is familiar and soothing, and it helps to pull the sensations away from where she’s overly sensitive, helps calm her shaking body and quiet her racing heart. Finally, she collapses back against the soft flannel sheets, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed - spent, sated, and _so_ in love. God, she’s missed this, missed _him._

Regina is just catching her breath when she feels Robin untangle his fingers from hers to wrap around her wrist instead. He pulls her hand toward him, holding it in front of him so that her forearm is face up, and she’s not paying attention - is too caught up in the hazy afterglow of her orgasm - so that she doesn’t realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.

“What…?” he whispers, moving quickly to his knees beside her, his fingers tightening on her wrist, drawing her attention to it. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, broken and full of hurt, tears welling in his eyes as he stares at the bright red dates horrifically marred into her skin. “Regina, _what the fuck_ is on your arm?”

Oh, no.

She tries to pull away but his grip is too tight - she struggles for a moment but Robin calls to her quietly, begs her, “Stop, please, _please,_ tell me what this is.” The tears in his eyes spill over and start to fall onto the sheets while he stares at her brands, and Regina fights a surge of emotions - a mixture of terror, shame, and self-hatred in equal measure - as he reads every single date, silently mouthing the words as he works his way down her arm.

She’s at a loss for what to say. She doesn’t want to lie to him, not when they’ve just made so much progress. They can’t keep doing this, _she_ can’t keep doing this - always making them take one step back after they’ve taken two steps forward.

“This is Roland’s birthday,” he whispers, his fingers hovering above the 7/20/2016 that is burned five spots down her arm.

“Yes,” she admits.

Robin cringes and his face reddens. He doesn’t attempt to touch the burns, as if he’s afraid the slightest breeze might hurt her, but his fingers shake above them while he studies the next several dates. After a moment he rubs a hand over his eyes and settles back on his heels, still holding tightly to her wrist, a look of failure written across his handsome features as he says brokenly, “Some of these are from _August_.”

She’s not sure what that has to do with anything, or why he looks so upset about it, so she asks quietly, “So?”

“We were together in August,” he mutters. “You were doing this to yourself and I didn’t know. _Christ_, how could I not have noticed?”

“Stop,” Regina moves quickly, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her for modesty. “This,” she gestures to her arm and swallows thickly, trying to find her courage. “This is about me, not you. This is about what I am, what I’ve done.”

“We…” he shakes his head, “I think we should go to the hospital,” he says quietly. “This is serious, you’ve been hurting yourself and I honestly don’t know what to do, I…” he strokes his thumb over her wrist. “I’m afraid, Regina, _christ_, this scares the bloody hell out of me.”

Regina shakes her head. He doesn’t understand her motives, and she can’t explain to him that seeking help is completely counterproductive to what she was trying to accomplish when she marked herself. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital. She doesn’t _need _to go.

“You don’t need to be afraid, I… I’m trying,” she attempts to reassure him, scooting closer and cupping the side of his neck with her other hand. Robin gives her a dubious look and sniffs, then looks back at the scars on her arm.

“August sixth,” he murmurs, “That’s the day I spilled juice on you,” several more tears fall and his voice breaks. “That’s uh,” he lets go of her wrist and swipes quickly at his eyes with both hands. “That’s our first kiss.”

It isn’t though - not by months and months - and Regina wishes she could tell him that, she wishes she could tell him how it wasn’t their first or tenth or even their one-hundredth kiss. She hates herself for this, hates that she didn’t think to come up with a better way to keep this hidden, but she never expected to be in this situation, she never thought for a second that she’d be back in Robin’s arms, let alone in his bed. Bile rises in her throat, she feels a prickle of that familiar evil run down her spine and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to stave it off.

“That’s not why I did this - it’s so difficult for me to explain.”

The shaky breath he puffs out does nothing to make her feel better about the situation. She tries to come up with something to tell him, wracks her brain for a plausible explanation that she can live with that isn’t lie. Regina knows that she can’t do that to him, to _them,_ she can’t be with him if everything she tells him is a falsehood.

“I started this long before that kiss.” Regina points to the first date on her arm, just under her wrist. The numbers of the 11/5/2015 are crude looking compared to the other dates that fall below it. She didn’t know how to brand herself properly that first time, didn’t have a system worked out, and the bent paperclip she used didn’t do a very good job.

Robin winces and wipes his eyes again before he clasps his shaking hands together tightly in his lap. His brow is furrowed, his eyes red-rimmed, and she purses her lips as she fights her own emotions back, her eyes burning and heart pounding as she watches him stare brokenly at the ruined skin of her arm. A minute ticks by and neither of them says anything, but Regina knows Robin, she knows he feels some level of responsibility for what she’s done, that he’ll feel terrible about it unless she can find a way to convince him that there is no way he played a part in this. It’s one of those times that his sweet nature is frustrating for her, because to Regina it seems perfectly clear that he didn’t make her do this. It was her choice - her punishment to teach her weak will and corrupt heart a lesson she’d never forget - and Robin was simply the guilty pleasure she used as an excuse to warrant the actions that led her to it.

“Listen to me,” she orders, trying to be strong, because this was supposed to hurt her, not him, it was supposed to be _her_ punishment, never his. “This has nothing to do with what we have now.”

She pauses and reminds herself to breathe, runs her finger lightly over the raised 11/5, the words, ‘_Today is not one of those days’_ echoing in her head and the weakness she exhibited that night in the vault burning through her. “I didn’t do this because of you. I did it because I made all the wrong choices, I did it because I deserved it. I did it because I lost my son and I didn’t know what else to do.”

At the mention of her son, Robin brings his head up and he looks into her eyes for a long moment. “I thought you said you don’t have children?” he asks, then his expression falls, and she watches his heart break as he makes the assumption that her son is dead.

“This is the day I lost him,” she says, not seeing the point in correcting him, gesturing at the date as she whispers, “This is the day I lost my Henry.”


	17. Chapter Sixteen

** _ New York - September 16th, 2016 _ **

On Friday evening, Robin calls to let Regina know that he’s been asked to stay late at the office, so she takes the opportunity to prepare an old favorite of Roland’s for dinner - fish tacos. Unfortunately, he doesn’t remember that he loves them - apparently after Regina wiped their memories, Robin and Marian never exposed him to such a messy, colorful food option - so at first he makes faces and pokes at the little bowls of ingredients as if they have personally offended him. But once Regina informs him that he gets to pick his own toppings (she already knows he’s only going to choose to cheese and avocado), and that he can have as much of them as he can stand, he perks up and starts to get into it.

When Robin and Regina first shared their relationship with their children, they had a lot of family meals together. Regina had been worried about Henry, had been concerned he might get jealous about her splitting time with two new men in her life, and she’d been right. It seemed Henry hadn’t minded splitting his own time between two mothers, but when it came to Regina’s time, he’d been quite unhappy about sharing it with Robin and Roland.

Things had come to a head after two exceptionally awkward dinners - one of which Emma was twenty minutes late dropping Henry off for, and the other in which he outright refused to eat for seemingly no reason, staring sullenly at his plate and refusing to even look at his lasagna (his favorite meal) until Regina caved and excused him to his room. Roland was no exception - he had been fidgety and quiet at the first dinner, too shy to talk to Henry, who made absolutely no effort to get to know the smaller boy, and things only got worse on the second dinner date when Regina caught her son glaring at Roland while she was carrying him on her hip into the kitchen. When she discretely attempted to correct Henry for his poor attitude, he had loudly snapped back at her about playing favorites. Needless to say, after that Roland had become extra clingy with Robin, blatantly nervous around Henry, and Regina didn’t have a clue what to do about it. She had nearly been brought to tears over the situation; she didn’t understand what she was doing wrong to make Henry so upset with her, and before she knew it, she started second guessing her entire relationship with Robin. He’d seen her anxiety mounting before she had though, and Robin had tucked Roland safely into his little bed in the room next to Henry’s before she had even realized it, too caught up viciously scrubbing the casserole dish in the kitchen sink to even notice his temporary disappearance.

Robin had been so patient that night, especially when she’d lost her temper and accidentally shattered the bathroom mirror in her en suite. He didn’t even flinch when it happened, oh no, not her Robin Hood - he lived up to his claim that he wasn’t afraid of the Queen. He merely squinted at her and held out his hand, then proceeded to wait for what must have felt like forever for her to stop pacing, to stop ranting, until she finally took his hand in hers. Then he’d kissed the back of it once and murmured, “Excuse me a moment, milady,” and promptly gone to clean up the broken glass.

She’d been speechless and stood by dumbly while he cleared away her mess, her heart throbbing with a fluttery _something_ that felt precariously close to love, even though it was much too soon for her to even think of such silly things. When he was through picking up the pieces of her mirror, he set about spoiling her further - he ran her a hot bath and rubbed her neck while she soaked in it, then he laid in bed with her, running his fingers through her hair, over and over, until they came up with the idea to have a more _interactive_ type of dinner date.

The next time the four of them gathered around the large, antique dining table at the mayoral mansion, Regina had been prepared as if for battle. She had every single topping she could think of for fish tacos spread out in little bowls across the wide surface - everything from shredded cabbage to pico de gallo to sour cream - she even made carne asada, chorizo, and shredded chicken as back up protein choices, just in case the boys didn’t like the grilled white fish. Robin had kissed her temple and squeezed her hip, told her she’d done too much, but he’d said it in a way that made her feel calm, not conscientious, and when the boys had excitedly come to the table that night, piling their plates high with all kinds of silly concoctions of taco ingredients, competing to see who could make the biggest taco, or who could choke down the yuckiest combination of toppings, she had honestly never felt more accomplished in her entire life.

After that, she learned quickly that Roland is a hands-on kid, even more so than most children his age. He’s full of seemingly endless amounts of energy and conversation - constantly chattering on and on about everything and nothing, and she learned the hard way that a Roland Locksley with idle hands is a Roland Locksley that is bound to get into trouble.

To her relief, Roland ends up enjoying his fish tacos as much as Regina remembers he did the first time, and after dinner he busies himself with a coloring book while Regina cleans up. He’s surprisingly well behaved during his bath - he only soaks half of the bathroom rug today splashing his toys around, which she really doesn’t mind - and when Regina presents him with the new Ant-Man pajamas Robin bought for him, he nearly hits the ceiling with excitement. She eventually gets him to calm down enough to tuck in with her on the couch for the rest of the evening, still chatting away but snuggled tightly into her side while they watch one of his favorite movies and munch on popcorn, waiting for Robin to come home from work.

He’s the most cheerful, ridiculously adorable, sweetest little boy in the entire world, and she has no idea why she’s been given another chance to get anywhere near him, but god, Regina is infinitely thankful. She strokes her fingers through his unruly curls and nods along as he tells her about his favorite character in the movie they’re watching - a little penguin who likes to dance - and when he finally pauses to take a breath, she uses the opportunity to cut in and break the ice on a topic she’s been wanting to address with him. It’s something that she and Robin discussed and decided that honesty is the best way to approach it, even though she’s terrified of his rejection, that she’ll irreparably damage his trust in her like she did with Henry, but she can’t keep up the lie - it’s not fair to him, and the longer it goes on, the harder it will be to tell him.

“Roland,” she starts, hesitates and pauses the movie to make sure she has his full attention. He pouts a little at first but when she shuffles him around into her lap and showers him with a few kisses and tickles his belly he’s quick to smile for her, and he cuddles into her easily, his fingers twirling in the dark strands of her hair as he settles heavily against her.

“Roland, dear,” she tries again, leaning into the couch for support, her arms tight around him. “I have something I need to tell you, something… something I must confess.”

“Oh?” he says absently, tugging lightly on her hair, wrapping it around and around his little fingers, the blue-black color a stark contrast against the paleness of his skin.

Regina drops a kiss to the top of his head and tries to slow her heart rate back to a more reasonable rate. She can do this. She _must_ do this. She won’t make the same mistakes she did with Henry - she _won’t._ “Do you remember when we first met?” she asks, “And you asked me if I was a genie?”

He nods and twists another lock of her hair around his little hand. “Yup. You’re a reading genie, not a wishing genie,” he adds.

“That’s right, that’s what I told you,” she sighs, and buries her nose in his hair, breathes him in for a moment in case he goes running after this, in case it’s the last time he lets her hold him in her arms. She can’t remember which time was the _last _time she held Henry and she hates herself for it. She hates that she can’t recall with vivid detail where they were, what he was wearing, what they talked about or even if she kissed his sweet face or told him she loved him.

“But I wasn’t being honest with you,” she sighs and starts to rub his back - for her comfort or his, she isn’t quite sure. “I’m not a genie, Roland,” she confesses quietly, “I’m just a regular person, nothing special at all. I’m so sorry I lied to you, sweetheart.”

Roland stiffens in her arms and pulls back to look at her, but his hands stay wrapped up in the shoulder-length locks of her hair. “You’re not a genie?” he asks, his brow furrowed tightly.

“No,” she shakes her head and holds eye contact with him - her dark brown eyes meeting his equally dark ones, “No, I’m not.”

“But you read to me,” he argues, tugging her hair and rubbing his free hand across his jaw like his father does. “And you know _so much_ about genies. And you came to my window all those times,” he’s thoroughly confused and it’s her fault, it’s _all _her fault.

“I know,” she nods, grinding her teeth. “I’m sorry, I should never have told you I was a genie when I… I’m nothing.”

Roland scowls at her and plays with her hair while he thinks it over. “What do I call you now, if you’re not my Genie?” he asks, and her heart lurches at his simple, yet significant statement.

“Well,” she starts to speak but has to stop to clear her throat; her voice is full of gravel and she can’t get the words out. “If you wish, you may call me by my name, _Regina_,” she suggests.

“Like Papa?”

She nods, and manages a smile when he tries it out, whispers _Ruh-gee-nuh_ slowly to himself and shrugs when he determines it to be an acceptable replacement.

“Did you tell Papa you’re not a genie?” Roland asks. “Papa says lying is bad.”

“Yes, your Papa knows,” she admits, “and he agrees that lying is bad, which is why we wanted to tell you right away.”

“Yeah,” Roland nods, “when I took Josie’s sticker book, Papa said I should be punished for lying about it and I couldn’t have sweets for two whole days. Is Papa gonna punish you?” he asks, his eyes going round with concern.

“I… don’t know.”

Roland gasps and his eyes flash as he remembers something else. “One time, mama caught me nicking cupcakes from the pantry after I was s’posed to be in bed, and she got so mad she gave me a spanking.” Regina’s temper flares over the thought of Marian striking him - she starts to bristle with anger and indignation at that awful woman, and she wishes like hell that she could wring her neck, wishes she could snap it with just her bare hands. But then Roland scoots closer to her and drops his voice, worry etched across his young features as he gazes deeply into her eyes and whispers _very_ seriously, “Do you think Papa will give _you _a spanking?”

Regina tries really, _really_ hard not to - she honestly gives it everything she’s got - but despite her best efforts to stop it, a laugh bubbles up from her chest and she nearly chokes trying to cover it up. The innocence of children has always been her weakness, the chink in her armor, and Roland is an especially soft spot - he has always known how to weedle his way in, right to the very center of her heart. Eventually, she manages to mutter, “Perhaps,” while still trying not to laugh, wiping away a few stray tears of amusement that managed to make their way out of the corners of her eyes, before she adds, “I suppose I’ll have to wait and see.”

Roland, sweet soul that he is, completely misunderstands her and takes her totally by surprise when he flings his little arms around her neck and hugs her fiercely.

“Don’t cry,” he reassures her, climbing right on top of her so he’s pressed against her as closely as possible from head to toe, his little hands framing her face. “I’ll protect you.”

Regina hugs him back just as tightly and whispers, “Thank you,” against his shoulder, then breathes out a sigh of relief when he settles against her once more.

He takes up twirling her hair around his fingers again as she resettles them against the large sofa cushions, pulling up the navy blue Chanel throw blanket that Roland brought from her house in Storybrooke - something he doesn’t know but _she_ certainly does - and tucking them in. She restarts the movie, but Roland turns away from it so he’s facing her, his big brown eyes serious as he tells her, “Papa hasn’t ever spanked me - when I get into trouble he takes sweets away, but it’s not too bad. I’ll help you.”

Regina nods and smiles softly, then kisses the bridge of his nose.

“S’okay you’re not a genie,” he tells her quietly, running his fingers over her face slowly, carefully, tracing the contours of her eyebrows, cheekbones, nose, and chin. When he passes over her lips she kisses his fingers, and he giggles sleepily. “Can we still read storybooks?”

“Of course, my dear,” she reassures him, squeezes him tightly to her and bumps the tip of his nose with hers, “We can read all the storybooks you’d like.”

He smiles at her and whispers, “‘Kay.”

Roland is asleep within seconds, his little hands fisted in her hair, his body curled up against her chest and stomach, not a smidge of anger, animosity or hurt regarding her dishonesty left in him. Regina is so grateful for him, and at the same time, so confused. She wonders why this boy is able to love her so freely, is able to resist her corruption when her own son could not. Then she reminds herself of how she treated Henry when that damned storybook turned up, and she has to push the thoughts away lest her inner evil flare too close to Roland. Regina knows full well what she did to ruin Henry - she knows every lie, every act of deception she put him through, and it’s a disservice to him to pretend otherwise. She gave him many reasons not to trust her, not to believe in her, not to love her; it’s through no fault of his that he was corrupted by her, oh no, the fault lies with her and her alone.

Still, it feels strange to be in the presence of someone who is willing to forgive her so easily when she has grown accustomed to being tarred and feathered for every single sin, regardless of her guilt. So she lets herself bask in it, lets herself be good, _feel good_ like Robin has asked her to. He also asked her if she’d consider seeing a therapist - suggested that she go with Roland to try it out, to see if it was right for her. It makes sense, actually, since Roland needs the appointments with Dr. Li less and less, she might be able to substitute in for him. Regina can’t really argue against the fact that she needs professional help - if the piles of dead villagers and collection of captive hearts weren’t convincing enough on their own, the eight dates she branded into her arm sure are.

As she cuddles with Roland, tension starts to seep from her body, her spine relaxes, she feels as if someone has turned off the pressure valve and vented the hot steam from her chest. It’s like she’s been breathing at half-capacity, slowly suffocating, but Roland’s simple forgiveness has suddenly alleviated the burden so that with each passing second she draws closer and closer to taking a full breath again, finally giving her a chance at getting off of life support. She snuggles into him and closes her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift to what ifs and maybes for the first time since the Locksley’s originally left Storybrooke, and the last thing Regina thinks of before she falls asleep, is perhaps there is still hope for her yet.

* * *

** _ New York - September 18th, 2016 _ **

“What do you think they mean, though?” Robin asks, snaking his arms around her from behind and dipping down to press his lips to the side of her neck.

Regina has one of his dresser drawers open - one of the two they’ve designated for her things - and she’s pulling out fresh clothes for the day. Yesterday he’d tried to get her to take over the entire dresser but she’d had none of it, and she’d been down right offended when he’d offered to buy her a few more options of clothing (something other than black long sleeve shirts and black leggings). She claimed she had money, then she had even tried to give him rent - she had pulled several hundred dollars from out of nowhere and shoved it at him as if she’d just realized she’d been remiss, as if she thought she actually owed him something, and it had taken him twenty minutes and about a hundred kisses to reassure her that that’s not at all what he meant. He just wants her to be comfortable, to be herself, to not feel like she has to hide anything, not when she’s with him.

“The dreams?” she asks, nuzzling her face against his and closing the drawer.

“Yeah. I thought maybe once I told you about them they’d stop, but I had another one of those medieval ones last night.” He sighs heavily and presses a kiss just below her ear. “I can’t get over how _real _they seem. They’re so intricate, _so_ detailed, like memories. What do you suppose they mean?”

Regina takes a deep breath against him and her smaller, fine-boned hands cover his, stroking softly, soothingly. “Perhaps they are real,” she says thoughtfully, her voice is quiet and very serious. “Perhaps they’re memories from another life.”

Robin chews it over for a moment, then he grins and tightens his arms around her. “Nah,” he kisses her cheek as he hugs her, “Not possible.”

“No?” her voice is more serious than he expected it to be.

“Nope.”

Regina’s hands are tight on his arms, almost clinging to him. “Why not?”

Robin presses another kiss to her cheek, one just below her ear, then dots a line of them down her neck to the collar of her shirt. “Because there’s no way I’ve gotten this lucky more than once.”

She immediately relaxes in his arms, a quiet hum leaves her lips and her hands stroke lovingly up and down his arms. He brings one hand up and tips her chin to the side so he can press slow, lingering kisses to her lips while he holds her tightly in the circle of his arms. After a few minutes their lips part, and Regina attempts to go back to what she was doing before – but when she turns to walk into the en suite, Robin doesn’t let go of her. He’s too caught up in how good she smells, in how soft her cheek feels against his - so he moves right along with her. She smiles and he can’t see it, but he can feel the way her eyes crinkle and her lips turn upward in amusement as he slips his hands under her shirt and splays his fingers across her bare stomach while he presses gentle, easy kisses to her cheek and jaw.

Robin moves with her all the way into the bathroom, where he takes the opportunity to walk her right up to the sink, pinning her to it with his hips pressed tightly against her beautifully rounded arse, his hands on her ribs while he works his mouth down the side of her neck, letting his teeth scrape just enough to redden her skin. She likes it like that, he thinks - the couple of times he’s tried it, a bit of roughness seemed to rile her up, and he wants to take it further this morning. She’s in a particularly good mood, all sly smiles and dark eyes, her thick black hair wavy and unruly before her shower, and he’s itching to get his hands in it, give it a good tug and see if she likes that too. In his dream this morning she did - in his dream she asked him to pull her hair, asked him to give her arse a good slap too - in the dream she _begged _him to fuck her harder, _harder._ He’d give his left arm to find out if she likes it like that in real life too.

Robin slides his hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing lightly at first while he presses himself against her. She smells so good and he can’t resist inhaling deeply against her neck as he kisses her there, using his tongue to tease and taste her skin. Beneath his hands her nipples tighten into little peaks between his fingers as he tugs and plays with them, and he enjoys the way she leans back against him, letting a soft breath huff from between her lips. He’s still shirtless this morning, just sporting a pair of gray sweatpants over his usual boxer briefs, and he wants to feel her skin against his, so he grabs the hem of her shirt and sweeps it off of her in one swift pull. When the warmth of her back connects with his chest they both make contented _mmm’s_ in the back of their throats, and Robin grins broadly at their shared reaction, catching the smirk she throws him as their eyes connect in the bathroom mirror.

“Feels good, yeah?” he asks, watching her reflection as he smooths his hands up to her shoulders and starts to rub.

Regina nods, her eyelids drifting closed as he massages her back and neck, pressing kisses on her skin between the places where his hands caress.

“You’re bloody gorgeous,” he murmurs, staring at her in the mirror. He can’t help himself, he drags his eyes over the flat planes of her stomach, the round, full curves of her breasts, her pebbled, dark pink nipples, the muscular shape of her shoulders, the long lines of her collar bones and the smooth feminine arch of her neck. Regina’s hair fascinates him - it’s thick and heavy, wonderfully soft and _so dark_ \- _truly_ black - like a raven’s wing. Her eyes are an exotic golden brown he’s never seen anyone else possess, taking on honeyed tones in the light and appearing almost black in the shadows, elegantly framed by exceptionally long, thick lashes. They’ve just woken up, so she’s not wearing any makeup - not that she wears much anyway - but she’s totally bare of anything this morning, and if it weren’t for the stress and worry that seems to be permanently etched into the lines around her eyes, he’d say she looks innocent, sweet - perhaps like she would have as a carefree twenty-something.

Robin is certain that it’s not possible for anyone else to ever compare to her; in his eyes - not only in looks but in temper and personality too - she’s nothing short of wonderful. He’s well aware that it’s quick, that he’s only known her for a short while, but every time he looks at her, touches her, gets anywhere near her, his heart positively _aches_ with how much he cares for her. He’s pretty sure he’s in love.

“What’re you thinking?” she asks, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

He smiles and wraps one arm tightly around her waist, the other across her chest to palm her breast. “I’m wondering if this is another dream,” he whispers.

Regina raises an eyebrow at him. “Why would you think that?”

Robin smiles and kneads her breast while he slips his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, slowly inching down, down, down until he encounters the slickness that has gathered between her thighs. She inhales sharply when he runs them lightly through her slit, then circles on her clit while he brings his eyes back up to hers and admits, “My dreams of late are a lot like this.”

“You dream of _this_?” she asks, one corner of her mouth quirking up in a playful smile. “Naughty boy.”

“Oh yeah,” Robin’s voice has dropped an octave even though he hasn’t meant for that to happen, it’s just that he’s so turned on now that she’s got him practically purring for her. “This, and a bit more,” he teases, taking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a little tug. “Care to find out what else?” he rubs more firmly on her clit and nudges her feet further apart with one of his.

“Well,” she drawls, “I was about to take a shower, but I suppose I could get a little dirty before I clean up.” She turns her face to his and raises one hand to the back of his head, then pulls him toward her for a kiss.

Robin smiles against her lips and says, “Allow me.”

He slides his fingers through her folds and teases at her entrance, dipping one fingertip just barely inside of her and swirling it slowly, then pulling back out before repeating the process over... and over… and over. God, the wet clicking sounds of his fingers sliding against her have got him so hard, and she’s rolling her hips and making these hot little _mmm’s _at the end of each breath, her voice all low and raspy with arousal – Robin has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. This woman is an erotic symphony – he’s certain he could close his eyes and come just from the sound of her voice, and if she didn’t look so bloody good he’d do just that.

He can’t get over how much he loves the feel of her though, all smooth and wet and _sooo_ warm - his mouth waters just thinking about all that slick heat she’s making for him as her body readies for more. Robin adds a second finger on his next teasing press against her entrance and thrusts shallowly, barely finger fucking her past his first knuckle, and Regina whines a bit, squirms against him and tries to sink down on his fingers.

“Eager, are we?” he smirks, kisses her then nips her bottom lip, letting it drag through his teeth before kissing her again.

“For you? Always,” her voice is breathy when she runs her hands up the sides of his thighs, grabs his sweatpants, and starts tugging them down.

They pause to remove the rest of their clothes, and before he can catch her, she turns to face him, one of her long legs coming up over his hip to pull him close while she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close. In the next heartbeat Regina’s mouth is all over him – his neck, his chest, his nipples – while her hands run the planes of his stomach and back, then firmly grab his arse – _christ_. His rigid length bumps against her stomach – _god she’s so soft, she feels so good_ – he threads both of his hands in her hair, holding her head steady and pulling her mouth up to his in an attempt to get a handle on the situation before they completely lose control.

Robin dips down and grabs her around the backs of her thighs, then lifts her up onto the edge of countertop, pushing her knees wide so he can stand between them. He runs one hand through her hair and tightens his fingers in the dark tresses - _christ,_ she’s pretty - tipping her head back while he works his mouth down the column of her throat to her chest. Regina moans in response and whispers, “So good, mmm,” and _god,_ that makes him hot, riles him up, makes him want to sink his entire length into her right-bloody-now. He sucks a bit roughly at her breasts, using his teeth to scrape lightly and to give her little nips along the edges, leaving red marks all across her creamy olive-toned skin, though not enough to actually mark her. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to, he doesn’t know how she feels about sporting a few hickeys on her breasts or thighs or neck, and even though he’d love to give them to her, he doesn’t want to make her upset. Instead he uses his tongue to press and flick and lave over her skin, covering her breasts with kisses as her hands thread through his hair and skate over his shoulders. He avoids her nipples entirely, waiting for her to ask him for it, wanting to see how she reacts to his teasing, smirking a bit when the tips of her breasts peak as he circles around each one with his tongue, then blows cool air across them.

Regina arches her back, thrusting her chest toward his face in an unspoken request, and Robin moves his mouth over her left nipple, letting her feel his hot breaths but otherwise giving her nothing more. He still has one hand buried in her hair and she seems to be into that, so he tugs a bit and arches her further, finally flicking at the very tip of her breast with his tongue and pulling a breathy, “_Ohhh,”_ from her when he closes his lips around the tightened peak and gives it a long sucking pull. Robin stays at it for several turns, paying her sensitive tip the attention he denied her before he switches sides, pulls her hair again and sucks on her other sensitive tip. He uses the flat of his tongue to swirl and lave over it, shivering when she scratches her fingernails up the back of his scalp and holds him to her. He could spend forever at her breasts - he has a serious affinity for them and he’s been fantasizing about doing this for what feels like an eternity, but unfortunately they don’t have all day. Roland will be up soon, and Robin wants to tease her more, wants to get her panting and starry eyed before any possible interruptions, so he brings his other hand down and starts to lightly run his fingertips over her inner thigh in random swirling patterns. Almost immediately, goosebumps break across her leg and he smirks, breaks the suction on her breast and releases her hair. _God_, she’s so sexy - so responsive to his touches; he just knows she’s going to be even more wet for him, knows she’ll be dripping when he finally gets down to business, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else. Robin’s resolve crumbles, he presses several quick kisses to her lips and pauses to leave one right over her heart, then he drops quickly to his knees before her.

He’s fairly certain he hears her mutter, “_Shiiit,”_ when he fits his mouth over her sex, but he’s much too preoccupied to ask her to repeat herself.

Robin is thoroughly convinced that heaven is between her thighs - it’s fucking _nirvana _\- and he’ll fight anyone who argues otherwise. He spreads her lips carefully with his large, calloused hands as Regina leans back on the countertop, her jet black hair spilling down her back as she puts one foot up on the vanity and drapes her other leg over his shoulder, his mind singularly focused on her and what she needs. He loves that she’s not shy with him anymore, that she doesn’t try to hide her body whatsoever; instead, she settles in, moves herself into the proper position to give them the best angle, as if they’ve done this a hundred times, as if he eats her out on the bathroom vanity every other morning, and it makes him throb with the thought. _Christ_, he’ll _gladly_ do it if she’ll let him. He moans against her as he envisions building this into his morning routine, then sucks eagerly on her clit, and Regina rolls her hips up in encouragement as she rasps, “God baby, that’s so good.”

The longer he works her the quicker her breathing gets, and she reaches forward with one hand, threading her fingers into his hair and holding him against her as he licks and laps and starts to thrust his tongue inside of her. He listens intently to the hot little huffs she makes, notes what makes her fingers tighten in his hair, times the suction of his lips on her clit with the involuntary roll of her hips, aching with his own desire and dripping precum when he feels her legs start to shake. She tastes amazing - _fuck she’s so hot _\- he can tell she’s getting close now - her breaths are uneven, her fingers are restless in his hair, she’s so wet it’s running down his chin and he swears he can feel her pulse when he rubs her swollen clit with his tongue. He’s so bloody excited and he wants to taste her when she comes, wants his tongue shoved deep in her when it happens, wants to feel her clench on him and know it was his mouth that made her arousal finally burst from a spark into a flame.

She’s quiet when it happens - such a lady - she doesn’t moan, she doesn’t call out his name, doesn’t so much as whimper, but _everything_ else about her tells him she’s wrecked, and that’s honestly just as satisfying for him. Regina’s body pulls tight like a bow as she approaches her climax, the fingers she has threaded in his hair clutch desperately at the short strands, her leg that’s draped over his shoulder straightens and shakes harder, _harder._ Her neck and back arch sharply, and she nearly loses her balance but she slaps her other hand down on the countertop at the last second and manages to catch herself. Robin uses his thumb to rub her clit fast and firm, makes swirls over the slick little bud and fucks her with his tongue, keeping up a rapid, steady pace, and he feels the exact moment of her release - feels the way her body suddenly goes slack while her inner muscles contract wildly on his tongue, tastes the rush of her wetness as it mixes with his saliva - _fuck, fuck, fuck._ She’s coming so beautifully, bucking her hips up, her hand holding firmly to the back of his head, keeping his mouth against her while she trembles, her leg pressing into his back; it’s the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. Robin eagerly continues to work her up, trying to derive every single ounce of pleasure he can, not stopping until she tugs lightly on his hair and nudges him away with a deep, shaky exhale.

Robin takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly against her stomach, trying to calm himself down. _Christ _that was amazing. He immediately wants to do it again, but he knows she needs a break - as do his knees, he’s not twenty anymore and the tile of the bathroom floor is unforgiving - but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to go again anyway. He kisses along her inner thighs while she recovers, dropping one hand to give himself a few firm strokes. He’s so hard now it almost hurts, and he’s got to get some relief soon but he doesn’t want to rush her - she doesn’t deserve that.

After another minute or so, Regina gracefully hops down from the vanity, her chest and cheeks still flushed prettily, a small smile playing about her lips. Robin rises to greet her, his heart rate skyrocketing when she slides her hands up his chest and says, “You know, turnabout is fair play.”

She starts to sink to her knees in front of him and this odd feeling of unease washes through him. Robin finds that for as much as he _really_ wants her to put her gorgeous lips on him, he equally doesn’t fancy the thought of her kneeling on the cold, hard floor, or really, kneeling for him at all.

“Uh,” he hesitates as she settles on her knees in front of him and takes his length in her soft, smooth hand. The air rushes from his lungs as she strokes him with one hand and cups his balls with the other, carefully massaging. “_Christ_,” he grits out, jaw clenched tightly as he watches her, warring with how good her hands are making him feel and this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach over her position on the floor. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him. He’s had dozens of blow jobs - Marian wasn’t a huge fan but they were married for fifteen years, for christ’s sake. Regina is certainly not the first woman to get on her knees for him. Why is the picture of _her_ on her knees making him so uneasy?

Regina leans forward and licks the smooth head of his cock, runs her tongue along the super sensitive edge - _oh god_ \- then up his entire length from root to tip. Her mouth and hands feel so good that he forgets to breathe, and he wants to see her eyes so he reaches for her, brushes her hair back and strokes his fingers down her cheek. Regina looks up at him just as she sucks the tip of him between her lips, and suddenly his stomach drops out and he feels like he’s going to black out. He pulls away from her, stumbling backward, his face hot, his breaths coming much too quickly, hands shaking. He wants her, _christ_ he wants her, but something in him is _screaming _at him ‘NOT ON HER KNEES’ and he just, _no, _he can’t stand to have her on the floor for another second.

He vigorously scrubs his hands over his face and tries to take deep breaths, feeling like a right idiot. She must think he’s such a git - that he can’t handle two seconds of her mouth on him, and shit, she’s certainly not going to expect much from him in bed._ Fuck._

“Sorry,” he tries, looking over at her then quickly away when he sees she’s still on her knees, waiting for him. “I just, uh, my apologies, darling but would you mind standing up?”

“What?” her voice is high pitched with emotion, and he’s so worried he’s offended her that he automatically launches into his explanation.

“I’m so sorry,” he tries again, “You feel amazing, and I want you to do it _so badly_, but no matter how hard I try I’m just uncomfortable with the sight of you on your knees. I, I don’t know why, god, I know it doesn’t make any sense. Perhaps we could move to the bed? Or we could uh, do something else?” A moment of silence passes between them and he adds, “I’ve gone and wrecked the mood now, haven’t I? Shit.”

Regina gets up slowly, her brow furrowed as she holds her hand out to him.

“Come here,” she commands.

Robin takes her hand, feeling defeated, then surprised when she leads him to the shower. She turns it on and waits a few seconds for the water to heat, then pulls him in behind her.

She hugs him tightly to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tucking her face against his neck as the hot water runs over them. “I don’t know how you keep knowing these things,” she says quietly, then sighs, “I wish I could explain.” She pulls back slightly and presses her forehead to his. “But for now, can you just let me reassure you that everything is okay, that _I’m_ okay? Can we leave it at that?”

Regina is right - he doesn’t understand - but Robin nods anyway, grateful that she doesn’t seem angry, disappointed, or offended by his strange behavior.

She kisses him softly once, twice, then heats it up, pulling his head down to her so she can slide her tongue deep into his mouth. Robin’s desire for her quickly relights - it hadn’t really diminished that much to begin with - and now that her warm, wet body is sliding against him thanks to the water, _god_, he’s right back to where he started in no time.

Regina squeezes some of his body wash into her hand and steps in close, her left arm wrapping around his back, their faces close as she reaches for him and starts to stroke his length. The soap acts like lubricant, makes it so easy for her to work her hand over him, gradually increasing the speed and allowing her to twist over his tip. Robin’s breath catches and he turns his face to hers - she’s too close not to kiss, and he takes full advantage of that while she pumps him, unable to stop the rock of his hips, though he no longer cares to. He’s been hard for so long and she feels so good, her entire body pressed into him as she moves her hand up and down faster, _faster_. He slides his tongue into her mouth to play against hers but almost immediately has to break away to catch his breath when she changes from long strokes to short, quick ones that focus on the tip of him. With his free hand he plays with her breast, thumbing her nipple and squeezing the round swell - god, her body is gorgeous.

Within seconds he’s close, _really_ close, his arousal jumping up even further when she brings her lips to his ear and tells him, in that voice that’s low and ungodly sexy, “Wanna see you come on me, wanna watch it drip down my stomach, my thighs, think you can do that for me, baby?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grits out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and ducking his head just as he starts to come.

He doesn’t disappoint her, he spills several thick jets onto the perfect, flat planes of her stomach while she strokes him, watching with total satisfaction as the water mixes with it and it starts to run down her smooth skin and onto her thighs. His knees go weak - _god - _it’s like she knows exactly how to touch him, like she has some sort of cheat sheet and knows just how to get him off best - reaching down to massage his balls, then returning to his shaft with slow steady strokes along his tip. She doesn't stop until he's spent, totally breathless and light-headed; euphoric from the endorphins, drunk from her kisses and addicted to her touch. Robin swirls his fingers through the mess he’s made on her stomach, unable to resist dragging some of it down to dip between her thighs and rub against her sensitive folds, chuffed to bits when she lets him. Regina shifts, spreads her legs a little and allows him to rub his come all over her hot little cunt, which is - _oh god_ \- she’s slick with her own arousal. He circles her clit with his come-covered fingers and she shivers, then nips his clavicle, and he wants to slide his fingers deep inside of her and let her feel what it’s like to have his come coating her inner walls. It takes everything in him to stop from doing just that, to stop himself from taking things to the next level. He has an intense desire to fill her with his release, to watch it dripping out of her, to take her over, and over, and over - _fuck_. It’s too soon for any of that, physically, emotionally, and otherwise, he knows, _christ_, he knows, but she’s gorgeous and he’s _completely _arse over teakettle for her and now that she’ll let him get her off, he wants to give it to her _so_ badly that he just might die with the wanting.

They stay close afterward, even through the routine tasks of their shower. It's their first one together but they’re somehow in sync, moving easily around each other in the small space while sneaking quick kisses, sweet touches, and in Robin’s case, perhaps a light slap or two to Regina’s round arse. He can’t help it, not when she’s all naked and wet and smelling so good, and her perfect rear is right there, just asking him to smack it, or bite it, or whatever else she’ll let him get away with. And, from the way she gasped that last time and shoved him into the wall of the shower, slid her tongue into his mouth and nipped at his lips in response, she bloody well likes it anyway.

He can’t wait to explore all the things they’re going to do together - in bed, out of bed, just the two of them, and with Roland as a family. God, there’s so much to learn and do together, he feels starry-eyed just thinking about it. He wants to give her everything she’s ever wanted, everything she’s never had, and everything she’s lost - he just, _christ,_ he wants to give her _everything._

She’s special, his Regina, and in every aspect of life, she deserves only the best. Robin doesn’t know exactly what she has lived through - he only has a few pieces of the puzzle - but he knows that her life has been terribly painful. He knows she has suffered more than anyone should, he knows that she’s been broken right down to the very depths of her soul and for some reason she’s here with him now, trying like hell to piece herself back together. He’s already in love with her, he wants to be with her for the rest of his life, and he wants her to be permanently in Roland’s life too. But quite recently he’s seen her completely unravel, and now he’s seen the brands, or rather, the ‘_punishments’_ as she called them. Robin knows that her heart and her mind are in pieces, she needs help and she’s thankfully trying to get it, but healing takes time. Until she’s healthy, Robin doesn’t want to ask her for anything more, he doesn’t want to rush her, doesn’t want to add any stress to her already heavy burden. He simply wants to make her feel good, wants to make her feel loved _unconditionally_.

He has faith that she will recover, that she can find peace with her past and with herself. He’s a patient bloke and a stubborn one too - so he’s more than ready to wait for that day. He’ll wait, and he’ll wait, and he’ll wait until she’s ready - he’ll wait for her forever, because somehow he just _knows_ that she’s the one he’s supposed to be waiting for.

* * *

_ New York - September 20th, 2016 _

Robin feels lousy for asking her about it. He knows he probably shouldn’t have, that perhaps he’s being pushy, that it’s none of his business and he should just keep his bloody mouth shut, but he’s dying to know something - _anything_ about it, _him_. About Regina’s son, about Henry.

They’ve been curled up on the couch for a solid hour, both slouched against opposite ends of it, their legs entangled beneath the throw blanket they’re sharing while they read. Regina is already almost halfway through his copy of _Awakenings _by Oliver Sacks, a true story about a group of people who contracted a strange sleeping-sickness and were frozen in a trance-like state, until decades later they were “awakened” by a newly discovered pharmaceutical. Just after Christmas Robin had found the book purely by chance - he’d been walking home with Roland from school one day, and he’d seen it displayed in the window at the half-price book shop next to a sign that said “non-fiction must reads.” He and Marian had had a terrible fight that morning - he was sporting a split lip to prove it - and he was stalling for time, avoiding the confrontation he was certain was coming that night, so he’d tugged Roland inside and let his boy pick out a new book. Roland selected some adorably absurd rhyming book about a feline in a top hat - his son always had great taste in literature, and Robin ended up with _Awakenings_. He had been pleasantly surprised by how interesting it turned out to be, and from the way Regina is entranced by it, it appears she feels the same.

He’s supposed to be reading _Walden_, but he’s just turning pages every few minutes while he steals glances at her and lets his thoughts run free. He’s read Thoreau about a hundred times anyway and could probably recite much of it by heart, so he’s not concerned that he’s missing anything by ignoring it. He’d much rather know about Regina - her life, her past, her hopes for the future - anything and everything she’s willing to share with him. Which is how, “How old was Henry?” slips out of his mouth before he’s able to catch it.

It’s just that he keeps having these ultra-realistic dreams, and he’s pretty sure the teenage boy he sees in them is Henry, _her_ Henry, and how he could possibly know what her son looks, sounds, and behaves like is completely beyond him. He feels terrible for thinking it and he knows it makes him an awful person, but he’s almost hoping she’ll tell him Henry was young - that he was Roland’s age or something similar, so that Robin knows he’s just being ridiculous and his dreams are just that - _dreams._ He doesn’t pretend to understand how they could even be something more, and if they are, _christ_, what on earth are they?

Her eyes are dark and guarded as she slowly drags them up from her book, and he watches as she swallows, straightens her spine, and squares her shoulders as if she’s preparing herself to be struck. God, what on earth has happened to this woman to make her react in such a way?

Regina clears her throat and says quietly, “He was fifteen.”

Well shit.

“And he…” Robin wants to pose his next question carefully, wants to get it just right. He thinks about the details from his dreams - the boy’s dark hair and eyes, his thin frame - and he asks, “Did he look much like you?” Robin already knows she’s going to say yes, but he feels like he needs to ask anyway, just to be sure.

Regina looks down and licks her lips, then tucks her hair behind her ear in that nervous habit of hers. “I adopted him when he was an infant,” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Robin is selfishly relieved by her words, because there is a good chance that his subconscious is just filling in the details of the boy from what little he knows. Henry could have been blonde with blue eyes for all he knows. He figures he’s pressed her on it enough, though, and he doesn’t ask her for more details; he can see how painful this is, notices how she glances at the dates on her arm when she thinks he’s not looking.

“He’s not dead,” she says out of the blue, a few minutes later.

“Sorry?”

“Henry,” she exhales slowly, “He’s not dead.”

Robin’s heart thrums with hope, his eyes prick with emotion and he sits up straighter as he closes his book. “I - well that’s - er - that’s a good thing… isn’t it?” He’s suddenly not sure what she’s trying to tell him or how he’s supposed to react to that.

“Yes, it’s good. He’s with his… with his _family_. He’s safe and happy now. That’s all that matters.” Regina looks so bloody determined when she says this that she nearly convinces him she’s right. Robin feels very confused - Regina is Henry’s family - what is she talking about, ‘he’s with his family’?

“But he’s not with _you_,” Robin argues. “You raised him, you’re his mum, you obviously love him more than anything -”

“Stop.” Her voice is sharp, and it shuts him up mid-sentence. “He’s where he wants to be - this is what’s best.” A beat of heavy silence falls between them.

“That’s all I want to say about this.” She gives him such a serious, hard look that it feels like she’s looking right into Robin’s soul, and he finds himself automatically nodding.

But then he shakes himself out of it, and tells her, “That’s fine darling, we don’t have to talk about it now. But someday, when you’re ready, I’d like to continue this discussion.” Regina purses her lips and looks like she might be about to argue with him, but he charges on before she has a chance. “You’ve done beautifully with Roland. You’re more a mother to him than Marian was for months and months. You’re a natural with him, sure, but you’ll not convince me you learned all of those mothering skills overnight.” Regina rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what happened with your son,” he says, reaching forward and taking one of her hands, “But I honestly can’t imagine that he’s been very happy without you.”

“You don’t know what happened,” she shakes her head. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“No, I don’t,” he shrugs, murmurs, _c’mere_, and tugs her to him. She’s so small that she fits perfectly against his chest as he hauls her up against him, wraps his arms around her and leans all the way back. He settles them in so that she’s laying right on top of him, stretched out lengthwise across the couch. “But I know how much it hurts you, and I know a little about how much you hurt yourself for it.” He pulls her left arm up and looks at the ruined flesh. “This is the tip of the iceberg, isn’t it?”

Regina tries to tug her hand away but he keeps a firm grip and tells her, “Easy now,” in an attempt to calm her. She stops struggling but her eyes are wary as Robin gently pulls her arm closer and slowly, one at a time, he leans up and presses soft, sweet kisses to each red, raised date.

When he’s done he lets go of her arm, and she lays her hand on his cheek, leans down and presses her lips to his.

“You’re too good for me,” she whispers, but she kisses him again in spite of her self-deprecating statement.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he counters, stroking his hands down her back. “Besides, haven’t you ever heard of a second chance?” he gives her a small, hopeful smile.

To his complete surprise, Regina laughs quietly, frames his face with her hands and kisses him again. She shakes her head as her eyes fill with unshed tears, then she bites her bottom lip and tells him, “Once or twice.”


	18. Chapter Seventeen

** _ New York, September 21st, 2016 _ **

Regina’s first session at therapy was much different than she expected it to be. She was used to the Cricket, to his reserved demeanor and carefully phrased questions that she was always trying to pick apart, certain that the _actual_ question he was asking her was something other than what his words indicated. Regina always felt like Archie had a hidden agenda, some carefully constructed plan all laid out for her in that notepad of his, and whenever he’d scribble down something she felt like a science experiment, liable to explode at any given second.

As she nervously entered the psychiatrist’s office with Roland this afternoon, clutching his hand tightly (more for her support than his), she quickly learned that Dr. Li was the opposite of Archie in many ways. Her office was brightly colored and tastefully decorated, with one wall dedicated to child-specific objects - toys, books and other objects of comfort, but the rest was clean and sharp without feeling clinical. The woman herself was well-dressed in a mauve pantsuit that Regina could even imagine her mother giving an approving nod to, her salt and pepper hair was slicked back in a high ponytail, dark-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose, and judging from the many accolades that hung on the wall behind her desk, it was easy to see she was no novice. She was a small woman and a bit round through the middle, with a confidence and warmth to her personality that was felt the second they entered the room. Regina had expected to feel the way she always did when she would slink into a session with Archie - judged, inadequate, incapable, _ashamed_ \- but somehow, at Dr. Li’s office today, she had felt none of that. She had felt… well, to some extent she had felt calm, and dare she say... relieved?

The doctor had spent most of the session speaking and playing with Roland, catching up on how his week was, asking him about school, his friends, and reviewing some of the sharing and communication exercises they had apparently done at his last visit. She praised him for how well he had done, and together they had placed gold stars marking his achievements on something she called his Progress Report, which he was instructed to give to Robin. Roland had positively beamed with pride over it, gave the doctor an enthusiastic high-five, then ran to Regina to show it off. He’d turned bright red and fallen into a fit of shy giggles when she congratulated him with kisses, and she’d had to clench her teeth and dig her nails into her palms to stop herself from tearing up like a soft-hearted fool in front of the doctor. She just loves him so much that it’s hard not to react like that - sometimes she forgets that she’s not a proud mother, she forgets he’s not hers.

The last ten minutes or so of the session, Dr. Li had turned her attention toward Regina, and as they got to know each other, Regina learned that the woman was surprisingly blunt - a feature the former queen found to be nothing short of refreshing. She liked the way the doctor spoke with her like she wasn’t a wreck, like she didn’t need to be _handled. _She had always despised the way Archie made her feel like he was trying to put safety bumpers around her, that because he knew she was damaged it made her less of a person, it made him speak to her with that sympathetic lilt in his tone. Dr. Li had done none of that. She had spoken with Regina like she was a normal person, but she figured that was just because she didn’t know how screwed up she was.

On their way out, however, the doctor had put that theory to rest when she had stopped Regina with a gentle hand on her shoulder and said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, Roland’s not going to need therapy much longer. While I’m certainly going to miss seeing him, I’ve heard there might be someone interested in taking over his appointments - an ex-genie he’s completely in love with, who happens to have a proclivity for self-castigation. Know anyone like that?”

Regina had immediately stood up straighter and self-consciously pulled on the cuff of her long sleeved shirt. She was angry at first - how dare the woman be so bold as to call her out? And how dare she be so bold as to touch her? Old habits die hard, it seemed, but after a moment she fought down her temper, she remembered that Roland had been seeing the doctor for months and that _she_ was the reason he was here in the first place, so it was more than reasonable that the doctor knew quite a bit about her. She had to give Dr. Li credit for getting near enough to touch her, too. Very few people were willing to get anywhere near the Evil Queen, even after she had tried to leave her sordid past behind her. She still emanates that dark aura, and she sees the way people naturally step back from her, so the doctor must be quite something for Regina not to bother her. Her temper wrangled and admittedly a little impressed, Regina finally had managed to give the woman a curt nod.

“It just so happens that my speciality is in genie rehabilitation,” the doctor had continued, giving her an understanding - but _not _pitying - look through her dark spectacles. “So if it’s something you’re ready for, I’ll leave R. Locksley on for next week, with the understanding that the R has changed.”

Roland had tugged on her hand excitedly, eager to get home and show his Papa his progress card, and as Regina looked down into his big brown eyes, she knew she didn’t have any other choice. She needs to do this, she needs to at least _try_. She wants to get better, she _must_ be better for Roland and for Robin; the evil is still there inside of her and she feels it, fights it, pushes against it every single day. The black poison of her corruption flows through every nerve ending, constantly seeking a way out, and she fights desperately to contain it, to stop it from infecting these two beautiful people she loves so much.

The amount of effort Regina uses just to act naturally, to pretend as if she doesn’t have a demon lurking below the surface, waiting for her to make one mistake so it can wreak havoc and ruin lives, is exhausting. She thinks that there must be a better way, there must be something more she can do to ensure she doesn’t poison Robin and Roland like she poisoned Henry. It’s truly her greatest fear, because she loves Robin and Roland as much as she loves Henry - they’re her whole world, they’re her everything. But she nearly destroyed Henry before he escaped her clutches, and she still doesn’t quite know how he figured her out before it was too late.

What matters now is that he’s safe from her, he’s happy, loved, and well-tended to. Regina is sure of that - she might have hated the Charmings but one thing she _knows_ is that they are taking good care of Henry. He is one of their own - he’s family by blood, a royal heir, a true hero - he’s so good, _so pure_ inside, and because of that, they’ll never turn him out. Regina is convinced that he’s where he belongs, and even though she loves him, even though she dies a little each day without him, she knows this is what’s best for him.

She’s lucky, really, because Robin and Roland are a miracle she doesn’t deserve. Each day they heal her a little, they keep her in a steady state, bringing her back from the brink over and over with their good intentions, blissfully naive to the evil lurking inside of her. She cannot tell them what she’s done, she can’t admit what she’s capable of - they’d never believe her, they’d never be able to understand it in the context of their new lives. So Regina _must_ get better, she _must_ come to therapy and try harder than she has ever tried in her life, because she knows that she’s putting Roland in danger simply by being near him. She is a monster - a risk just by being herself. Any minute she’s with him could be the minute she slips and irrevocably corrupts him. Her heart is already ruined, her soul crushed from what she’s done to her first son - she will not survive the destruction of her second, and this time, she’ll drag her soulmate down with her.

So Regina had tipped her chin up and turned to Dr. Li, set her jaw and looked the older woman straight in the eyes as she told her determinedly, “I’ll be here.”

She treats Roland to ice cream on the way home - he’s antsy to show Robin his progress report, but not so much that he’s willing to pass on his favorite treat. As he swings their joined hands and licks merrily at his large scoop, Regina can’t help but smile. Robin’s probably going to die of shock when he learns she’s allowed Roland to have so much sugar at this time of day. It’s late, and she normally wouldn’t allow him to have it; she likes to make sure he eats a well-balanced diet (it’s so important for children his age), but today feels like a victory, like a huge step forward, and she thinks they should celebrate.

Roland polishes off his ice cream just as they enter their apartment building, and by the time they reach their door he’s practically vibrating with the combination of his sugar rush and his excitement to tell Robin about what a good therapy session he had.

“Okay, now just a moment, young man,” she stops him with a hand on his shoulder as she fishes out a wet wipe.

Roland eyeballs the wipe and groans.

“Come now,” she chides, “You don’t want to present your good news with ice cream all over do you?”

“Why not?” he shrugs, trying to wipe at the dried stickiness on his face with equally sticky hands.

“Well,” Regina crouches down to his level and holds out her hand. She won’t force him to give her his, she knows he will on his own - he’s a good boy, her Roland. “What if your papa wants to give you kisses or high fives?” she asks, “He might not want to give you those if your cheeks and hands are all sticky.”

Roland drops his head back dramatically, his curls bouncing, and holds his hands out to her, sighing loudly in defeat and wiggling as she quickly wipes his hands clean. He’s old enough to do it on his own and they both know it, but she likes doing it - it makes her feel useful, makes her feel connected to him.

“Now, let me see your handsome face,” she prompts.

Roland really turns up his pouting, his big brown eyes round and pleading as he puts his small _clean_ hands on her shoulders and asks quietly, “Do I have to?”

“No,” she tells him honestly. “You don’t _have_ to.” He starts to smirk in victory - god, he looks so much like Robin when he does that - but she continues, “However, you certainly won’t be receiving any kisses from _me_ tonight with all that dried sugar on your face.”

“What?!” his gasp of disdain is so adorable that Regina almost breaks, but she just barely holds out and maintains her serious face instead of grinning like she _so_ wants to.

“The choice is yours,” she presents the wipe to him. “Kisses, or no kisses?”

Roland snatches the wipe so fast that she almost doesn’t have time to let go, and he scrubs vigorously at his little face, making sure to wipe all traces of the ice cream from him in what must be record time.

“Did I get it all?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, concern rampant in his dark eyes. “Did I get it?”

“Let me see,” she drawls, taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger and tipping his face left and right, carefully inspecting it. “Hmm, I better take a closer look,” she says thoughtfully, then leans in closer… closer… closer… Roland’s eyes are huge with anticipation when she finally closes the gap, dives in and peppers his face with kisses while she tickles him. He squeals with delight and laughs loudly, throwing himself at her and burying his face in her neck.

Regina finally lets up, pulls back and frames his little face with her hands, stroking her thumbs lovingly across his cheekbones and pressing one last kiss to his forehead before she tells him, “Yes, my dear, you’ve certainly got it all.” She doesn’t pretend for one second that she’s still talking about the ice cream.

They enter their apartment hand in hand, but Roland runs into the living room and out of sight once they’re over the threshold, too excited to wait another second to tell his Papa all about his progress card. Regina pauses to remove her shoes in the entryway, still smiling at the little boy’s antics, but her brow furrows and she tips her head to the side in confusion a few seconds later when she hears Roland call out, “Sara!”

She had no idea that the babysitter was coming over - how odd. When she rounds the corner into the kitchen, she greets Sara, who is already holding Roland’s little overnight bag - Regina frowns - then she looks to their small dining table and things get even more confusing.

Roland has climbed up onto Robin’s lap and is showing him his progress report, chattering on excitedly and pointing to each star, telling his papa what they mean and what Dr. Li said. Robin is making the appropriate comments, but he isn’t even looking at the paper - he has one arm wrapped tightly around Roland’s middle, his face buried in his son’s hair, and his other hand wrapped tightly around - what the hell? A glass of whiskey?

Something is wrong.

The second Roland takes a breath, Robin cuts in, hugging him close as he tells him how he’s going to have a sleepover at Sara’s tonight, because he hasn’t gotten to spend any time with her lately and she misses him. Only, Roland’s not having it.

“But I don’t wanna go,” he whines, pushing Robin’s arm off and hopping down from his lap. He brings his progress report to Regina and leads her to the refrigerator, where she instructs him to pick out which magnet he wants to use. He selects one - a big green R - then she lifts him up so he can place it high up on the door. She starts to set him down but he turns and clings to her, and she’s not sure what’s going on with his father but since she can feel the tension she’s certain that Roland can too, so she holds him and walks back to where Robin and Sara are speaking quietly.

“No,” Robin is saying to the babysitter as they re-enter the room, “It’s fine. He’s going.”

Robin tries to smile at Roland but to Regina it’s more of a grimace, and she doesn’t miss the fact that he hasn’t looked at _her_ once since they came back from the doctor’s appointment. Usually he can’t _stop_ looking at her. Fear starts to creep down her spine - she wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she doesn’t want to scare Roland, it’s obviously something major, or Robin wouldn’t be so desperate to get his son out of the house.

“Alright, my boy,” Robin says, forced calm threaded in his voice. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go with you to Sara’s, that way you can tell me all about your visit with Dr. Li, then I’ll tuck you in and Sara will read you as many storybooks as you want tonight.”

Regina frowns at Robin’s blatant use of bribery to lure Roland out of the house.

Roland isn’t completely convinced, but he asks, “As many books as I want?”

“That’s right,” Robin cringes and throws an apologetic look at Sara, who shrugs and doesn’t look fazed by it. Regina rolls her eyes, knowing that the girl probably won’t read him _any _books. From what she remembers, Sara much prefers to put Roland to bed early so she can watch Netflix and shop online.

It’s all of two minutes before the three of them are heading out the door, and Regina is standing in the entryway with no idea what is going on, helplessly watching them go. Robin still hasn’t said a word to her, hasn’t so much as glanced in her direction, and just as they’re about to leave, she hears him quietly tell Roland, “Go and say goodbye to Regina, son.”

Goodbye.

Not goodnight.

_Goodbye_.

All of the blood drains from her face and rushes to her feet so quickly that she gets lightheaded, and she has to put one hand on the wall to brace herself. Roland comes running in the next second though, and she barely has time to react as he hurtles his little body at her. She drops down to catch him, falling to her knees so fast that they crack sickeningly on the stone of the entryway, but she doesn’t even feel it. She’d rather break every bone in her body than miss the chance to hold him in her arms one last time. She’s shaking all over and she feels weak, like every ounce of energy has suddenly been sucked out of her, but Roland seems totally unaware that anything is wrong as he hugs her neck tightly and kisses her cheek. However, when she doesn’t respond as she usually does - with kisses and hugs in return - he quickly notices, and he pulls back asking, “Do I have ice cream on my face?”

She brings her eyes to his, smooths her hands over his face and through his hair, trying desperately to memorize him, because she’s certain this is it, this is the last time she’ll see him; Robin has obviously figured something out and he’s finally going to get rid of her.

“No baby,” she rasps, her voice gravelly, her throat too tight to be able to say much. “You’re perfect.”

She kisses him as many times as she can, surprised when Robin doesn’t stop her, doesn’t interrupt or rush them. She kisses and kisses Roland until he finally gets shy and pulls away, throws her one last adorable grin with those deep dimples she loves so much, then runs happily out the door to join Sara and his father in the hallway.

Regina stays on her knees - it just seems appropriate - as the door swings shut behind them. She considers packing, but then she thinks, where would she go? What purpose does she have now? There isn’t much point in packing.

Her phone vibrates and it startles her. She doesn’t get calls or text messages from almost anyone but Robin, which is the entire reason she even has a phone, so it’s likely him. She pulls it out of her back pocket with a shaking hand and reads the text.

_Robin: Please don’t go anywhere. We need to talk._

She’s not sure what he expects her to say to that, so she doesn’t respond. She supposes that his message is better than _Get the hell out_, but she’s certain that’s how the night will end. Why delay the inevitable?

Regina rises slowly, feeling the swelling and bruising on her knees now that her adrenaline has receded and she thinks that she’s getting too old for this. How much more can she take before she can no longer glue her broken pieces back together? It can’t be long now, and oh, how close to salvation she thought she might be. She should have known better - she’s well aware that hope is reserved for heroes and she knows what _she _is - she’s proven it time and time again, it’s certainly no secret - she’s nothing more than a villain and a goddamn fool.

She grabs a garbage bag from the kitchen and makes her way into their bedroom - _Robin’s_ bedroom - and pulls open the dresser drawers that contain her things. She hasn’t bothered to buy much since he moved her in here, just a few t-shirts and some slightly sexier underwear, so it’s not like there’s much for her to get rid of. Once he’s kicked her out she doesn’t want him to have to look at these things and feel guilty - she knows his sweet nature and she knows that he will. She knows he’ll follow through and do the right thing now because that’s who he is, but later he’ll feel bad about putting her out, and he’ll want to check on her, he’ll want to know she’s okay, and the fewer reminders he has, the less likely he is to come looking for her.

So she clears out her things, empties the dresser drawers and her toiletries in the bathroom, makes the bed, goes through the dirty laundry and pulls out her articles of clothing, even washes the dishes she used earlier. She goes through the entire apartment and puts back anything she’s changed over the last few weeks. She pulls bookmarks out of books she’s been reading and puts them back on the shelf, puts away movies they’ve been watching and clears their Netflix history, stacks and organizes Roland’s storybooks so it’s not possible to tell which ones they’d been reading together, and with a heavy heart, she takes Ozzy the stuffed monkey and shoves him in the trash bag with her other items. Roland will miss him at first, but he’ll forget. It’s just a stuffed animal and he’s young. Robin will buy him something else, something better, something that doesn’t have such a negative connotation attached to it.

She’s just tying the garbage bag off, ready to take it down to the room with the trash chute, when the front door opens and Robin comes flying in, panting, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. He’s home _much_ sooner than she anticipated - she wasn’t going to leave without having whatever talk he wanted to have, but she had wanted to be completely ready to go, and from the way he’s glaring at the garbage bag in her hand, he’s already on to her.

“What’s ‘at?” he pants, nodding at the bag and sucking in deep breaths. He must have ran all the way back from Sara’s, or at least a good portion of it. Robin is in good shape, and he’s worked up a sweat, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed as he tries to calm.

“Trash.”

“Lemme see,” he demands.

“You want to see the trash? That’s disgusting,” she bluffs, trying to play it off.

“Regina,” he warns, standing up to his full height, “Lemme see.”

“No.” She straightens up too.

“Hand it over,” he reaches for it, and she jerks the bag away.

“No.”

“If that’s what I think it is… if you’re running…” Robin stalks toward her and growls - _growls! _\- when she matches him step for step in the opposite direction. Regina tips her head at him in utter disbelief.

“Stop it,” she snaps pulling up sharply and hold the bag out of reach. She’ll not be intimidated by him. “Why are you acting like this? What’s going on?”

Robin stops walking and rubs one hand over his scruffy jaw. “Oh? Don’t like being left in the dark? Don’t like not understanding what’s going on around you?” he asks, sarcasm thick. His eyes are full of hurt as he holds a shaking finger up and points it right at her, “Not enjoying the taste of your own medicine, _Your Majesty_?”

Her heart stops.

They stare at each other as seconds pass, and neither of them makes a sound - no one moves, no one breathes, no one blinks.

_How _is this possible? _What_ does he remember? _Why_ does he remember?

Her heart re-starts, slamming against her sternum in triple time.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she tries, attempting to stay calm. First rule of war - don’t give away your battle position before you have to - she doesn’t _know_ anything yet.

Robin makes a pained sound in his throat and shakes his head. “Come now, darling, after everything we’ve been through together, you think I can’t tell when you’re lying to me?” He tips his head and takes a deep breath. “At least give me the decency of telling the truth now that I’m up to speed again.”

“Why won’t you tell me what happened?” she asks, starting to feel desperate. “I don’t understand what’s going on, and if you’ll just tell me, I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do, Robin. Just tell me what you want.”

“I…” he opens his mouth and closes it again. “To be totally honest, I don’t know what the bloody hell to do,” he sighs.

Robin walks past her to the kitchen table and refills his whiskey glass, then takes it into the living room and sinks into his usual spot on the couch. He takes a long sip of the amber liquid, squints at the burn as he swallows it, then takes a second drink.

“Will you sit with me?” he calls to her.

More confused than ever, Regina sets the trash bag down and pads into the living room, where she takes up post on the opposite end of the couch.

“No, I…” he looks pained and reaches one hand out to her. “Please, sit with me. I know I’m acting terribly but I can’t bear to have you so far away right now.”

She’s hesitant to, but she ends up taking his hand and allowing him to tug her over so that she’s flush against his side. Robin looks so upset, so hurt, and when he brings her hand up to his lips he spends almost a full minute just pressing kisses to her palm and holding her hand against his cheek with his eyes closed before he finally takes a deep breath.

“Baby, what happened?” she asks again, cupping the side of his neck with her free hand - her left hand.

Robin nods, sniffs and takes her left hand in both of his, then gently pushes up the sleeve of her shirt, baring her mutilated skin to him.

“What happened?” he asks. “What happened, what happened…” he mutters the phrase a few times as he stares at the dates on her arm. “Let’s review, shall we?” he asks, glancing up with reddened, tear filled eyes before he drops them down to look at her arm again.

“November the fifth,” he whispers, tracing the numbers with a shaking finger. “That’s the day I made love to you in your vault.”

Oh. Dear. God.

“December the twenty-sixth. That’s the day I fed Roland and I that blasted applesauce cake that apparently wiped our memories.”

Regina closes her eyes. This can’t be happening.

“May tenth,” his voice cracks, “nothing happened, but it should have. It should have been our first anniversary.” Robin starts to cry, and Regina’s chest feels tight, like an anvil is pressing on it. Her pulse is much too high, she can’t speak, can’t stop him - she has no idea how or why he remembers these things.

“I don’t know this one,” he whispers, running his finger over May twentieth, the day she first made contact with Roland in New York. “But this, _christ_ \- this is Roland’s fifth birthday.” He starts talking fast then, his voice high pitched with emotion and shaking as the rest of the dates start spilling out. “I- I- I dunno what happened on August fourth,” he admits, “But the sixth is when I kissed you in the kitchen - right over there,” he points into the other room with a trembling hand, “And the fifteenth? How could I be so remiss as to forget Henry’s sixteenth birthday?”

Regina’s breaths are short and painful, she feels like she has a knife in each lung, making it impossible to take deep breaths. Her vision is tunneled, her fingers tingle - she squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to calm down, tries to find some control, tries to stop the panic from overtaking her.

When she finally has enough air in her chest to speak, she opens her eyes and looks into Robin’s anguished blues. “How?” she asks, desperate for an answer. “How can you possibly remember all of this?”

Robin clutches her hand tightly and pulls it to his chest, placing it over his heart. He stares at her for a moment, swallows thickly and tells her, his voice rough and low, “While you were out with Roland, I was given a memory restoration potion.”

“You…” Regina draws a blank - that’s not at all what she expected. “You were given a potion?” Robin nods. “By whom?”

Robin breathes deeply and firms up his grip on her hand. “By… someone who is desperate to see you, who’ll do anything to speak with you.”

“Who?”

Robin tilts his head and another tear runs down his cheek.

“Robin _tell me_,” she demands, her pulse pounding, the faces of a hundred enemies flashing before her eyes. She can’t protect Robin here, she doesn’t have her magic. She’s pathetically normal outside of Storybrooke - she is _nothing_. Fear rushes through her, and she starts to feel faint.

“It’s…” Robin hesitates.

“_Who?!”_

He finally breaks. “It was Snow White.”

Regina is stunned. Snow was here? Snow came to New York and restored Robin’s memories? Snow wants to speak with her?

“And…”

Regina searches his eyes, her emotions wild, frantic, her thoughts scattered.

“And there was someone with her,” he tells her, but Regina is barely listening. What does Snow want? Why would she venture outside of Storybrooke?

“Regina,” Robin calls, but she’s distracted, caught up in her thoughts, so he calls her name again, “Regina, there was someone with Snow.”

She snaps her attention back to him, and he braces her hand tightly between both of his, right over his heart. “Who?” she asks, her voice is a rough whisper.

Robin looks her straight in the eyes. “Breathe for me,” he says. “Take a breath.”

“Robin, who?”

“Breathe.”

She does it, but only because he’s being stubborn and she’s starting to get angry. When she takes a deep breath of air into her lungs it does make her feel a little better though, so she takes a second breath, then a third. When he finally tells her just who showed up with Snow White this afternoon, Regina ends up being eternally grateful for those breaths, because they’re the only thing that keep her from blacking out.

“Henry.”

“No,” she shakes her head.

That can’t be right. Henry can’t stand to be anywhere near her, and more importantly, he _shouldn’t_ be anywhere near her.

“I know this is difficult,” Robin rubs her hand comfortingly, “But the lad’s had a tough time lately and he wants to see you.”

“He was here?” she repeats stupidly, her voice an octave too high and full of gravel thanks to the lump that has formed in her throat. She swallows thickly, “You spoke to him?”

“Yeah,” Robin looks guilty, “I asked them to come back - I didn’t want you to walk into the middle of things without forewarning. They should be here any minute now.”

As if on cue, there is a knock at the front door, and Regina’s stomach plummets. She feels like she’s in a dream, or a nightmare - she’s not sure which. She has so many conflicting emotions that she doesn’t know which is dominant, and everything just sort of goes hazy as Robin sits with her and holds tightly to her hands.

“Shall I let them in?” he asks quietly, trying to catch her eyes.

“I…” she wants to see her son, she _needs_ to see him with every fiber of her being, but everything about the past several months tells her that she shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, that she’ll only corrupt him further.

There is another, insistent knock at the door.

“It’s totally up to you,” he tells her. “I’ll send them off if that’s what you want. I may not understand what’s happened, and I have about a thousand questions, but I know for certain you’ve been through enough. So if you don’t want to see them, you don’t have to.”

“Yes I...” she jerks her gaze up to his, “I want to see Henry,” she rasps. “But… please, promise me,” she pauses and waits for Robin to nod. “Keep him safe from… from me.”

Robin frowns and furrows his brow, but he nods and kisses her knuckles before he stands and goes to answer the door. Regina hears muffled voices as Robin greets their guests and she unsteadily gets to her feet, unsure what to expect. She stands nervously in the living room, fidgeting with the cuffs of her long sleeves, brushing off the front of her pants and tucking her dark hair back, hoping she looks presentable.

Robin appears first - he comes straight to her and stands next to her as if he’s her personal bodyguard. She loves his protectiveness, loves that he’s so loyal, that he tries to make her feel safe and supported. God knows she’s going to need it right now.

Snow is next - the small woman steps timidly out of the hallway with the guiltiest look Regina has ever seen plastered across her round face, her big doe eyes already full of tears as she steps into the room. “Hi, Regina,” she says quietly. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Regina doesn’t bother to reply. She doesn’t care about Snow - not when Henry steps into view and all the air in her lungs suddenly seems to get sucked out. Robin wraps an arm around her waist and she’s so grateful for it, because her knees wobble and she’s not sure she’d be able to stay standing if he wasn’t there to hold her up.

Henry’s hair is longer than it was the last time she saw him, his bangs shaggy and hanging in his eyes as if he hasn’t had a haircut in months; he looks thinner, or perhaps he’s just taller? He’s dressed in a button up shirt and jeans but the cuffs of his pants are a little short, and he’s suspiciously absent of any of his usual technological distractions - no headphones blasting in his ears, no Gameboy chirping in his hands, no phone, nothing. His green eyes connect with hers across the room, and Regina’s heart _aches_ for him while she fights down every maternal instinct inside of her that begs her to go to him. She’d give anything to wrap him up in her arms, to be allowed to hold him for just a few minutes, to be able to tell him how much she loves him, how sorry she is for what she’s done. She knows she’s not allowed to do that, that he doesn’t want her anywhere near him and that she’s not worthy of such things, but it doesn’t stop her from wanting it anyway.

“Hi, Mom,” Henry says quietly.

“Hi, sweetie,” she tries, but she starts to cry, and Robin catches her around the middle as she doubles over, the burning in her chest too painful for her to stay upright as she starts to sob.

After a few seconds though she feels Robin shift, and then he’s hugging her - no, no it’s not him - _Henry_ is hugging her.

Henry hugs her _tight_ \- oh, he hugs her so close - and Regina gets completely caught up in it. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his hair, breathing in his familiar shampoo, rubbing his back and whispering how much she loves him as she feels his hot tears against her neck. He doesn’t say much in return, but he mumbles, “I’m sorry,” against her chest and clings to her like he’s never going to let go.

Regina is overwhelmed, completely shocked - she has never felt the intense kind of relief she’s feeling right now. She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this, and she keeps waiting for someone to slap her hands off of him, or for Henry to come to his senses and shove her away, but instead all she feels is how her son holds onto her as he breaks down and says, “I love you, Mom.”

She feels a hand on her shoulder and when she picks her head up, Robin guides her and Henry to the couch, her vision too blurry to see the path on her own. She curls up with Henry, tucking him against her side as much as possible since he’s much too big to be in her lap, while he drops his head onto her collarbone and presses his forehead against her neck. He’s as tall as she is, all gangly limbs and sharp bones that dig into her ribs and thigh, but she doesn’t care, he’s her son and she’s missed him so much that she can’t _not_ hold him right now.

Regina has no idea how much time passes while she sits with Henry. It could be hours for all she cares. They sit quietly while she strokes her fingers through his soft, straight hair and rubs his back, caving every now and then to drop a kiss to the top of his head or to close her eyes and nuzzle her face against his while she tells him that she loves him. She doesn’t know why he’s here or why this is happening, but she doesn’t _want_ to know why - she doesn’t want to break whatever spell has allowed this to happen. She just wants this moment to last forever.

“So…” Snow says hesitantly, “I guess you’re probably wondering why we’re here.”

Fucking Snow.

Regina should have known she couldn’t keep her trap shut. What she wouldn’t _give_ for another sleeping curse right now.

Regina says nothing in reply, hoping she’ll get the hint and be quiet, that she’ll just stay out of everyone’s business for once, that she’ll just let things be.

But no, that would be asking for far too much.

Snow yammers on, “The truth is, I have some bad news, and we need your help.”

Regina snorts, wraps her arms more tightly around Henry and closes her eyes. She has _got _to be kidding.

“I know what that must sound like,” Snow tries, “No. I know exactly what that sounds like - it sounds like what it is. It’s terrible of me to even come here and ask it of you after what we did, after the way we treated you, after what we accused you of.”

Regina furrows her brow and slowly opens her eyes. That was awfully close to an apology from Princess Pain-in-the-Ass, and she’s not quite sure what to make of it. She takes a moment to look over the small woman seated in the chair a few feet from her. Snow looks tired, _worn;_ there are lines around her eyes that Regina is sure she’s never had before, and it almost makes the former queen interested in what she has come all this way to say. _Almost_.

“Well, it must be pretty important,” Robin - her sweet, bleeding heart outlaw - nods before Regina has a chance to tell Snow to go to hell. “Why don’t you start by delivering this ‘bad news,’ and we’ll take it from there?”

“Wait,” Regina cuts in, “I don’t want to do this in front of Henry,” she tightens her grip on him. She doesn’t know what the bad news is, but if it’s something terrible, he doesn’t need to be exposed to it. He’s a child - he doesn’t need to be involved in whatever idiotic thing Snow has gotten herself mixed up in now.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Henry says softly, sitting up a little and wiping at his eyes. His cheeks are red and blotchy from crying, his eyes puffy, and she can’t resist brushing his bangs back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I already know.”

Regina grits her teeth in annoyance at Snow. _Of course_ he already knows. Because the Charmings have no sense of boundaries with what children should and should not be doing. Henry should be concerned with school, video games, dating - he’s had enough “adventures” to last a lifetime. He should not be involved in whatever the hell new threat her step-daughter is about to tell her about. Regina shoots Snow a glare.

Snow cringes, turns her palms up as if there was nothing she could do to stop this from happening, and Regina sighs, “Fine.”

There is a moment where Snow uncharacteristically fidgets in her chair before she takes a steadying breath and to Regina’s surprise, she turns her attention to Robin.

“You remember Zelena?” she asks, “Regina’s sister?”

Robin nods and glances at Regina, who irritatedly corrects, “_Half_-sister.”

“Well, Regina, after you left, she paid Storybrooke a visit,” Snow continues, folding her hands in her lap. “She came looking for you, only you weren’t there, and since you’d burned your house and everything you owned down to the ground,” Snow pauses when Robin’s head whips to look at Regina, but the former queen resolutely does _not_ look at him - they’ll talk about that later, maybe, it’s not important right now - “she had no way of tracking you down, just like the rest of us had no way, which I’m guessing was the point.”

“Why was Zelena looking for Regina?” Robin asks, frowning and leaning forward on his elbows in his chair across from Snow.

“When we finally managed to pin her down, she told us she wanted to ruin Regina’s life, once and for all,” Snow states. “She said she wanted to make Regina experience how it felt to be totally unwanted; she wanted her to be cast out, orphaned - just like Zelena had been.”

There is an uncomfortable pause as everyone stares at each other, their current situation too close to that exact scenario to be called a coincidence.

Robin clears his throat. “Perhaps you can fill in a few blanks,” he prompts. “Because I’m not quite clear on how Zelena had anything to do with how we all got here.”

Snow shifts awkwardly and looks down at her small hands. “When we told Zelena what happened between Regina and Henry after you left, Robin, and how Regina… deteriorated until she just… disappeared, Zelena was, well to be blunt, she was overjoyed. She was so happy, in fact, that she let it slip that her wicked plan had worked.”

“What plan?” Regina breathes, her heart slamming furiously against her chest. Her voice gains a little strength. “What plan, Snow?”

“I’m so sorry to tell you both this,” Snow turns to Robin and her lower lip quivers. “But Emma didn’t bring _Marian _with her through that portal. She brought Zelena, _disguised _as Marian. From what we know, Zelena murdered Marian and used a glamour spell to copy her appearance. She tricked us all - it was Zelena the entire time - at home in Storybrooke and here in New York. Your wife was never cursed, Robin, she never needed to come to a land without magic to be saved because she was already dead - the entire thing was just part of Zelena’s plan to hurt Regina.”

Regina feels like she’s been stabbed in the chest. She cries out but tries to quiet it, not wanting to scare Henry but unable to stop it completely, so she chokes on it and has to turn her face into the couch cushions to hide her devastation. This cannot be happening - this cannot be the work of her sister, this cannot have all been for _nothing_.

“You’re telling me that I left Storybrooke with the Wicked Witch,” Robin says quietly, his voice a low growl. “You’re telling me that I left my son alone in her care, that I let him believe that she was his mum, that I, I, I slept next to that murderous bitch for _two months_?"

Regina wishes she was strong enough to go to him, to comfort him - she knows he’s falling apart right now but she’s falling apart too, and she can’t carry her pieces and his at the same time without them all slipping through her fingers. She lets go of Henry completely and pushes her face further into the couch cushions, her hands coming up behind her to press against the back of her head as her body shakes with the horrifying realization of what they’ve just been told.

“I’m sorry, Robin,” Snow says.

“Sorry?” Robin scoffs. “You’re sorry? You have _no idea_ what you’re even sorry for, _Prin-cess_,” he stresses Snow’s title like it’s a filthy word. “Zelena’s completely upended my life, she’s ruined every relationship I had, destroyed Roland’s faith in me as his father and protector,” Robin pauses to run his hands over his face. “She’s made a bloody fool out of me,” the roughness of his voice reflects the total humiliation displayed on his face. “She… tried to force me to… and when I refused she knew I would never hit a woman, not even to defend myself - _god_. She shredded my dignity to bits and that’s nothing, _nothing _compared to what Regina's been through.”

“Don’t,” Regina calls, wiping at her eyes and sitting up straighter on the couch. She didn’t know all of what Robin has just admitted happened with Marian - _Zelena _\- before, just that it had been bad, but she knows from his tone that he has suffered much more than he let on. She can tell that he’s starting to lose it. He’s so upset that he’s going to say something he’s going to regret, and she doesn’t want that for him - he doesn’t need something else to feel guilty about. “Robin, please calm down - we don’t need to discuss that right now.”

Robin laughs derisively and notices his abandoned glass of whiskey on the end table. He picks it up and tosses the amber liquid back in one swallow. “Calm down?” he repeats, his blue eyes blazing as he locks them with hers. “If I hadn’t been mucking about in this godforsaken city like a bloody idiot with that _monster_, you wouldn’t have been hurt. I would’ve been there and I’d have taken a hot iron to myself a thousand times over before I _ever _let it anywhere near you. I would have protected you - I’d have laid down my life and been bloody glad to do it, Regina - I’d have taken the killing blow with a smile on my face. I would never have let any of this happen to you, _never_._”_ He shakes his head and makes this awful, anguished noise in the back of his throat before he turns away from her and exclaims, “_Fuck!_” then he throws his tumbler across the room. It smashes against the wall in the kitchen, the shattering spray of glass shockingly loud in the otherwise silent apartment.

No one says anything for a few seconds and the silence is unnerving. Regina starts to go to Robin - she has never seen him _this_ upset, but he mutters, “_Christ_. My apologies,” before she can get up, and then he heads off down the hallway, quietly closing his bedroom door behind him.

Regina stares after him, her mind racing with a million _what ifs_ and _whys_ and _how could this have happeneds_ before she finally snaps herself out of it and redirects her attention to Henry. He looks concerned and _very_ guilty, his head ducked and hands tucked under his legs. Regina frames his face in both of her hands and tips it up to her so she can look in his eyes.

“I’m going to go speak to him for a few minutes,” she tells him quietly. “But then I’m going to come back and we can talk or we can just sit, whatever you feel like doing, okay? I’m not upset with you, Henry, and neither is Robin.”

“But you should be,” Henry mumbles, dropping his eyes from hers.

“No,” she corrects leaning in and touching her forehead to his. “Never.” Regina presses a kiss to the top of his head as she stands on wobbly knees and gives Snow a sharp look as she passes by her. “Don’t you dare go anywhere,” she commands quietly.

Snow at least has the good sense to say, “We won’t, I promise,” as Regina continues on and trudges down the hallway toward Robin’s bedroom.

She takes a few deep breaths as she goes, trying to shut off all of her emotions for now, trying to compartmentalize and focus only on Robin. It’s the least she can do - he’s been so strong for her since she came to New York, he’s been so patient, so understanding. He’s been running himself ragged trying to save her from herself, and she has to come through for him now, she has to stop being so damn selfish and put him first this time.

When she reaches the bedroom, instead of barging in, Regina stops outside the door, not wanting to invade Robin’s privacy. She knows he’s hurting, that he’s as emotional as she is right now, or perhaps even worse. He’s not only dealing with the horrible shock of what her sister has done to him and his son, but he’s also wrestling with the fact that _Regina’s _the one who sent him over the town line to begin with, _Regina’s _the one who stole his memories, the one who forced him away from her and _back_ into Zelena’s care when she could have kept them safe and sound in Storybrooke. She didn’t know, of course, she had no idea what her sister was doing but that doesn’t mean she’s not at fault. Robin has been living a lie for the past ten months because of her, and the second she got to New York, Regina wormed her way back into his life, _knowing_ what she’d done. It was almost as if she thought they could stay in this new fantasy world they’ve created, as if she thought reality wouldn’t come crashing down around them. She should have known that they had an expiration date, that devastation and destruction would come knocking, that the second she got close to Robin she’d ruin everything, just like she always does.

But, _jesus_, she just couldn’t help herself. She’s an addict for him _and_ for Roland - she couldn’t stay away; she couldn’t stop worrying, couldn’t stop _stalking_, she couldn’t stop loving them.

She’s evil, and she’s as bad as her wicked sister.

The double dose of betrayal must be awful for him. Everyone around him has failed him - no one saw this threat, they were all so busy with themselves that no one paid any attention to the unassuming Maid Marian. No one thought for a second that the reason True Love’s Kiss didn’t work on that curse was simply because that woman _wasn’t actually his wife._

All Regina wants is to do something - _anything _\- to comfort him. She knows if she leaves him alone right now he will continue to spiral - she’s never seen him have an outburst like that, never seen him throw things, never seen him storm out during a fight. Her head tells her to stay away from him but her heart refuses to let her run, and she gets into a tug of war with herself for a few seconds before she finally gives in and knocks softly on his bedroom door.

“Robin,” she calls quietly, leaning her shoulder on the frame of the door. “Can I come in?”

She can hear him moving around on the other side of the door, and she knows without seeing him that he must be crying. He’s so tenderhearted, her Thief, he’s tough when he needs to be - so strong in so many ways, but Regina knows that the best way to break Robin’s heart is to hurt the people he loves, and god, they have all taken a serious beating this time.

After several seconds pass and she gets no response, she tries again.

“Please let me in,” she puts her forehead against the door so she can speak to him as quietly as possible, not wanting Snow and Henry to overhear their private conversation. “Please, I’m so sorry,” her voice is shaking as she puts her hand flat against the door, “I didn’t know it was her, I swear I didn’t know. I never meant to put Roland in danger - or you - but _especially _not him, I –”

The door swings open so fast that she loses her balance and stumbles forward, but Robin catches her against his broad chest and tugs her into the room, swiftly closing the door behind her.

“No,” he says quickly, gripping her tightly by her upper arms, “Don’t do that, don’t even _think_ of doing that.” Robin’s eyes are red, his cheeks wet and flushed, it’s impossible to miss the way his hands tremble where he touches her.

“What?”

“Don’t you dare take blame,” he insists. “Not for your wretched sister, and not for _them_.” He lets go of her and walks quickly to the other side of the room, where he puts both hands on top of his dresser and leans heavily on them with his back to her.

“I’m not without fault,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice calm. The lamp next to his bed is on, and in the warm glow of the light she can see the way his shoulders shake as he attempts to silence his emotions.

“No?” he asks suddenly, spinning to face her, and Regina’s stomach plummets when she sees the look on his face. He’s _so angry_ she barely recognizes him - his lips are curled back in what she can only describe as a snarl, his eyes narrowed, forehead creased - if she didn’t trust him with every cell of her blackened heart, she might actually have cause for alarm. But this is Robin, her Outlaw, her Thief, and she doesn’t back down because she swore she’d try harder than ever to be better for him, and cowering in the corner isn’t going to help anything.

Regina squares her shoulders and tips her chin up. “That's right,” she tells him. “And you know it, or you wouldn’t be so angry right now.”

“Did you know that Marian was actually Zelena?” he barks the question at her and she tips her head to the side, annoyed because he already knows the answer to that.

“Of course not.”

“Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re as _fucked_ as I am,” he snaps. “Tell me,” he demands, “How many times must we endure losing our first loves?” he starts waving his hands around angrily. “How many times must I endure the loss of Marian? How many more times must you suffer the loss of Daniel? How many times must we be ripped apart from each other before we completely lose our bloody minds?”

Oh god, he’s crying hard as his face reddens, swiping angrily at his tears and ducking his head in an attempt to hide it.

“How many times must I tell my son that the woman he considers his mother is lost to him, because I’ve failed him, because I’ve failed _her,_ once again?” Robin doesn’t distinguish if he means her, or Marian, or both of them, and it makes Regina’s head rush in a way that the room starts spinning.

“Robin...” she warns, but apparently he’s just heating up, the volume and tempo of his voice increasing as he really dives into his rant.

“And you know what?” he scoffs, rubbing his hand over his face and tugging at his hair before slapping his palms down on his thighs. “I _knew_ at Christmas that something was wrong. I _knew_ that those bloody Charmings were messing with your head and I was _this close_ to being useful, to doing what I should have done to protect you, but instead I had to go and show off in front of Henry, and because of that, you were left on your own.”

Regina can’t stand to hear him talk himself down, tear himself apart and take blame for this. _She_ was the one who put the Memory Potion in the cake - she wasn’t even going to tell him about it until Henry showed up - _jesus_ \- she has to stop him. She has to find a way to break through his grief and get him to understand that he is the victim in this, that he had very little choice, if any, in all of this. It’s a difficult message to give him - he’s not going to want to hear it and she’s not sure how to convince him.

“And then I sat here for what, six months? Seven months? Twiddling my thumbs like a right fool, thinking I was going mad. Thinking I was being stalked by some ruddy serial murderer. Christ, Regina, you had me running ‘round checking the locks on my windows three times before bed, you know - when all the while it was _you_. You were so close - right outside my door - for fuck’s sake, you were _RIGHT THERE_,” he’s not quite yelling but his voice is loud, his face twisted in anguish as he points toward the street. “My soulmate was fifty feet from me the _entire time_, and I didn’t know it was you. _How could I not know?!_” he demands.

“I don’t know, Robin, ” she says, exasperation thick in her tone.

“But that’s not even the worst of it!” he yells. “No, the worst is that all that time you were so close to me, well within reach, and you were mutilating the _fuck_ out of yourself, and I didn’t have a clue. I had no idea it was going on because I gave up my right to protect you, and even when it was staring me in the face, I refused to see it!”

“Stop it,” she snaps, stomping straight at him and giving him a little shove, then grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt, right above the meat of his pecs. “That’s enough, now, enough!” She shakes him a little, trying desperately to break his momentum just as she too, starts to get riled up. His anger is feeding her temper like kindling to a flame, and she’s flaring up right with him - bright and burning, and just as dangerous.

“No!” he challenges back. “I saw the bandages! And the bruises! And the cuts and scrapes! _Christ, _even the first night we met, you were getting dragged off down an alley with your face bashed in, you - _oh my god_.” Robin promptly cuts himself off and brings his hands up on top of his head, burying his fingers in his hair and staring at her for five full seconds with his mouth hanging open before he chokes on a sob and more tears spring to his eyes. He frantically glances around the room, then finally back at her, as if he cannot believe what he’s just concluded.

“What?” she demands, too angry to stop herself, too aggravated to see where he’s about to go with this. “I what?!”

“You were _letting them!_” he gasps, his eyes wide with shock. He drops his hands and tries to grab her wrists, but she shoves away from him and takes a step back before he can. “You weren’t fighting back _at all_.” he accuses, “you were letting them hurt you _on purpose!”_

She can’t deny it - it would be a lie if she did - and when she fails to provide him with an immediate explanation, Robin wretches, covers his mouth and shoves past her as he bolts into the bathroom.

Fuck.

_Fuck!_

Regina closes her eyes and runs her hand through her hair, pulling in a deep, shuddery breath as shame and frustration attempt to overwhelm her. She never, ever intended for Robin to find out about that. Those were _her_ punishments, not his - they were payments for _her _crimes. No one else ever needed to know.

_Damnit._

She hears him throw up once, then again, and she has to clench her hands into fists to stop herself from falling prey to her own emotional turmoil. She hates that she’s whining but it’s not fair that they have to go through this now too when they’ve already endured so much. It isn’t fair that _just_ when things were about to get better, they’re in here arguing and colliding like neutron stars, their hurt and anger acting as the subsequent burst of gamma rays, everything they’ve just built getting totally irradiated, their entire world destroyed once again as they are sucked into a brand new black hole.

Regina sighs, because Robin is right - they’re both _fucked_.

She hears the water running in the sink and sits on his bed while she waits, her fingers stroking idly over the soft flannel comforter while she tries to come up with something to say to him. She can’t find any words to defend her actions, nor does she know if she even _wants_ to defend her actions. Regina has done everything he said, and she has no idea what he expects from her now. She doesn’t know what he wants after everything’s been laid out in front of them, or what they’re supposed to do in the wake of Snow White’s devastating announcements.

The whole thing is just - it’s so - _god,_ it’s such a mess. Her son is waiting for her in the living room, there is no way he hasn’t overheard them yelling at each other, and after all this time apart, she’s aching to hold him, to talk to him, to love on him like she hasn’t been able to do for forever. Robin needs her, though, and she doesn’t feel like she’s done anything except make him even more upset. He deserves more from her, he deserves better, but her charred heart isn’t cut out for this - there is not enough goodness left in her to be spread so thin. She’s not strong enough to support them both at the same time - don’t they know that by now?

Robin returns from the bathroom and slowly sinks down onto the bed next to her. They sit quietly as the seconds tick by, and after a few tense moments of silence, Regina reaches for his hand, tugs it out of where he has folded it in his lap and threads her fingers through his. He grips her hand tightly at first, as if it’s all that’s keeping his feet planted on the floor, and she wraps her other hand over the top of it, squeezing in what she hopes is reassurance as she drops her head onto his shoulder. Robin immediately relaxes a little, then he sighs and tilts his head so he’s leaning it against hers. They steady themselves this way for several minutes, just taking deep, controlled breaths and allowing their whirlwind of emotions to settle, until finally Robin shifts and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s getting late,” Regina says softly, rubbing her fingers lightly over his hand. “I’m sure everyone is hungry, so I’m going to go order a pizza for dinner.”

Somehow, Robin finds it in him to manage a soft, albeit short laugh, and her head bounces a little against his shoulder.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re such a mum,” he muses, bumping her shoulder with his. “Even in the midst of pure chaos, it hasn’t slipped your mind that it’s well past supper time.”

Regina picks her head up and leans away to look at him, “I -” she starts to protest but she’s too tired to come up with anything sufficiently snarky, so she just rolls her eyes and stands up. “Will you join us?”

Robin lifts her hand and kisses it, then holds it against his lips for several seconds and closes his eyes. She waits quietly while he thinks, reaching out to run the fingers of her free hand through his hair, curling them around the shell of his ear and stroking along the warm muscles of the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass,” he murmurs, tipping his head down to press their joined hands against his forehead. “I’ve got quite a bit to think on, and after what I’ve already said and done, it’s probably best if I hold up in here for tonight, yeah?”

“Okay.” She gets it - understands his need for space better than most people. Regina is all the way to the door before she turns back to let him know her plans for the evening. “I’ll make up the couch for Henry tonight,” she tells him, to which he nods. “And I’ll put Snow in Roland’s room, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“If… if Henry asks,” she fidgets with her sleeve, “if he asks me to, I could end up sleeping in the living room with him tonight.” She brings her eyes to his, hoping he’ll understand, that he won’t ask her to choose between them. Robin nods, but looks confused by her elevated concern. Regina licks her lips and tips her head toward his dresser, where he is unaware her two drawers currently lie empty. “I just didn’t want you to wake up and think that I’d left without warning. I won’t... not unless you want me to?”

Robin follows her gaze to the dresser and she watches nervously as the understanding dawns on his face. “No, I don’t want that, I’d _never _want that,” he says resolutely, standing up and going to the door. He pauses next to her and presses a sweet kiss to her cheek, then he passes her and heads down the hallway before she has a chance to ask him what he’s doing.

He’s back in a flash, holding the sad little garbage bag she’d thrown all of her belongings in, and he dumps it out on the bed, where he immediately starts sorting her items into piles - clothes, toiletries, Roland’s monkey. She stands back as he calmly goes about putting everything away as if this is completely normal, as if they haven’t just fallen to pieces yet again. Regina doesn’t have any idea why he puts up with her, why he always pulls her back when she pushes him away, but god, she’s forever grateful for it.

When Robin has everything back where it belongs, instead of handing over Ozzy the Monkey, he tucks the toy in their bed like he would a small child - pulls the covers up to the plushie’s armpits with its’ head resting on the pillows - and when she gives him a questioning look, Robin just shrugs and says, “In the event you spend tonight with Henry, at least I’ll have some company.”

Regina manages to smile and shake her head at how adorable he is - it’s clearly no mystery where Roland gets his charm from - then she heads back into the living room to arrange some dinner for her son.

She ends up spending the night in the living room, but not really on purpose. Snow goes to bed early, and Regina curls up with Henry on the couch, wanting to soak up every minute she can with him. They don’t talk much - she knows Henry and she can see that he’s not ready to just from the set of his jaw, so she holds tightly to him and strokes her fingers through his hair as he stretches out and rests his head on a pillow in her lap.

They put a movie on but she doesn’t watch it - she’s too busy looking at him - trying to decipher all the changes she can see from the past few months, trying to memorize him, in case this visit with him is her last. It reminds her of when he was little, before all of the drama of spell breaking and storybooks became the norm. Sometime around midnight, Regina dozes off when Henry sleepily takes her hand in his and cuddles her palm against his chest, where he keeps it captive for the rest of the night, pressing lightly right over the top of his beating heart.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

** _ New York, September 22nd, 2016 _ **

“What is it you want from me, exactly,” Regina asks, narrowing her eyes at the younger woman over the top of her paper cup. They’re on their way back to Robin’s apartment from the corner coffee shop, the unusually warm September morning making for an enjoyable walk as they sip their drinks and Snow awkwardly broaches the topic of her visit.

“It’s complicated,” Snow starts.

“I’m sure I can keep up,” Regina huffs.

“I know, it’s just, I’m not really sure where to start. I know that the news I gave you yesterday was awful, and while that _was _the worst of it, I’m afraid the rest isn’t much better - in fact, everything else I have to say is probably just going to piss you off.”

“Well, then you’re smarter than I’ve given you credit for,” the former queen drawls, takes a sip of her coffee, then casts Snow a sideways glance. “You’re aware that I don’t have my magic here - this is likely as safe as you’ve ever been from me.”

The princess winces, then stares at her cup for a moment before she says, “I don’t know how you did it as a single mom for all these years, Regina, I really don’t.”

And that’s… not at all what Regina expected them to talk about. She anticipated Snow would tell her that the whole of Storybrooke had burned down, or that a giant squid had invaded the harbor, or that David had locked himself inside a jail cell and they’d lost the key. She has no idea why Snow wants to discuss this.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I just, I don’t understand how you have time for everything. Even between David and I, we constantly drop the ball. Henry has so much going on between school, sports, clubs, _and_ friends - it’s impossible to keep up with him. I don’t know how you did it on your own. Not to mention that you were also Mayor. ” Snow looks near tears when she finally stops talking, but Regina stopped listening about halfway through anyway.

“What do you mean, _you and David_ are having trouble keeping up with him?” she snaps, her tone sharp, “What the hell is Emma doing? Isn’t she taking the lead in raising my - our -” she shakes her head, she can’t say the words, they’re too bitter on her tongue, so she finishes lamely, “-in raising Henry?”

“She’s trying,” Snow defends, but it doesn’t have her usual gusto. “It’s just that Emma is new at parenting - we all are, and I don’t have to tell you how difficult teenagers can be. He’s so moody, he argues with David and Emma constantly, and he won’t do anything I tell him to, he -”

“Are you serious?” Regina cuts her off. “You’re going to complain about how hard of a time you’re having raising my son, when you spent _years _trying to steal him away from me?”

Snow bristles. “I don’t know what to do, Regina,” desperation giving a hard edge to her voice as they come to a halt just outside the apartment building. “He’s out of control - he takes off and doesn’t tell us where he’s going or when he’ll be back, he quit his job at the pawn shop, he’s getting into fights at school, he’s even failing math. And it’s like the harder David and I try, the worse he gets.”

“Wait a minute,” Regina stops her, holding one hand up. “_You’ve_ been raising Henry?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “You and David?”

Snow nods, “Mostly. Emma’s trying, it’s just that she’s so used to being his friend, not his mother. This is different than the missing year - Henry knows what he can get away with now, not only is he older, but he knows how he was raised and that Emma wasn’t the one who gave him rules and expectations - she’s the one who always helped him break them.”

Regina rolls her eyes and curls her lip in reaction to that comment, well aware of the rule breaking Emma assisted Henry with.

“So he knows he can push the boundaries with her, and they fight _constantly._ She spends a lot of time at work now, or out with Killian and some of her friends - avoiding Henry, I think. She doesn’t know how to deal with a teenager, and to be honest, neither do I. He won’t open up to me or David,” she drops her hands and hangs her head in defeat, obviously upset with herself over her failure, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Regina’s heart sinks. Here she had thought Henry had been happy and well taken care of, when in reality, his life was falling apart just as much as hers.

“I have no idea what I’m doing as Mayor,” Snow continues. “The council members are taking advantage of my inexperience and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to find a way to stop them,” she gripes. “I don’t know how to prepare the Annual Report, and none of the numbers I was given make any sense. On top of that, I have no idea how to improve the budget for next year, and all David and Emma do is hang out at the Sheriff's station all day and pick up drunks that stumble out the Rabbit Hole-”

“As I recall, you’re the one who wanted all of these things,” Regina interrupts, her blood boiling. “In fact, this is _exactly_ what you’ve been after for as long as I can remember. Ever since your father died you’ve wanted the keys to the kingdom, and now you’ve got them. You even have your un-Charming family all tucked up together in one place to support your every move. You’ll excuse me if I have a hard time sympathizing with you.”

“I’m not asking for your sympathy,” Snow protests, shaking her head in frustration and shifting around on the sidewalk. “I don’t deserve that. Not after what we said to you, what we said about you - not after the way we turned on you when you needed us most.” Snow has big, fat tears in her eyes as she continues, and Regina looks away, irritated by the woman’s emotions.

“Especially me,” Snow continues. "I should have known better, I should have stood up for you and I didn’t, because I knew you were better than what everyone was saying, than what _I _was saying, and I just… didn’t want to argue with Emma and David after all we’d been through.” She pauses and takes a deep breath, as if she’s steadying herself for her impending doom. “I didn’t know until recently about what happened with Gold. I didn’t know how upset, how _desperate _you were that night you went to him to make that deal for the Forgetting Potion.”

Regina pales. Unless Gold has been running his mouth, no one should know about her humiliation, about the way he degraded her that night, and she highly doubts the imp has been loose lipped since she held up her end of the bargain. She lowers her voice and asks hotly, “How the hell do you know about that?”

Snow looks totally abashed. “Emma was there, frozen by magic in the back room. After you left she made a deal with him and was sworn to secrecy, but she let it slip to David at the station one night, and David didn’t tell me until well after you had left Storybrooke. Once I found out, I should have stopped everything and come looking for you,” she cringes, “But I let myself get talked out of it, and that was another enormous failure on my part.” Snow pauses to brush away her tears, the sunlight glinting off her short ebony hair, the day much too beautiful for the depressing conversation they’re having.

Regina is so furious she’s vibrating with the effort of holding herself still. Emma knew exactly how far Regina was willing to go to make things right with Henry, and she kept her mouth firmly shut, had hidden it from everyone so they’d believe she really was a villain and she’d get her way. Regina may never have quite seen eye to eye with the Savior, but her betrayal of silence cuts deeply, and it isn’t something the former Queen will ever be able to forget.

Snow blazes on, apparently caught up in her confession of faults. “But I’m telling you, Regina, that I’m not capable of running Storybrooke - I’m _still _failing. I don’t have help from anyone who’s qualified that doesn’t have their own selfish agenda, and if I can’t get things back in order, if you won’t come back and help me fix at least _that _terrible mistake I’ve made, it’s all going to fall apart. Everything you spent the last thirty years building, every single life in Storybrooke - even Henry’s - is going to be severely impacted by my shortcomings.”

Snow’s eyes are wide and wistful, full of shame as she begs Regina for help.

Regina doesn’t feel bad for Snow for a single second. She feels furious, livid, outraged - but not sorry for her. Snow brought this down on herself; she asked for it, fought for it, purposely allowed Regina to be ostracized so that her family could reap the rewards of her ruin. So no, Regina doesn’t feel bad for, not at all.

She does have a lot of _other _feelings about the situation though, and particularly about herself. She’s confused, unsure now just what type of influence she actually has on Henry when suddenly everyone seems to have done a one-hundred and eighty degree turn. She swears she can still feel the evil in her simmering right under the surface of her skin, but how much of that is real and how much of it is a product of the mind fuck she went through while her sister was getting her revenge and the un-Charmings were successfully stealing her son from her.

She dislikes the idea of Storybrooke falling into ruin, although it’s offset somewhat by the fact that she’s been proven right. Snow never had it in her to be Queen, much less Mayor - her step-daughter doesn’t have the knowledge, aptitude, or hell, the spine to do what it takes to run her own household, much less an entire town. Even though it’s late in coming, Regina has to admit that it’s satisfying to know that everyone else is now aware of how incompetent the woman is, for if things are as bad as Snow has indicated, there can be no doubt about who led them to their demise. She almost feels a sense of responsibility to save them all, to go back and sort out the mess Snow has created, but it’s not enough to draw her away from the life she’s created here. She’s not sure if she wants to give up this place where she is safe from her sordid past, where she is not the queen or the mayor, where she is not a murderer or a conqueror; she’s just Regina, a woman who needs therapy and a long time to figure out who, and what the hell she is now.

It’s the knowledge that Henry is being raised by her arch nemesis - not his birth mother, like she’d thought - the incorrigible notion that Snow-stupid-White and the Shepard-Prince-Imposter are the ones bringing up _her_ son that has her seriously considering her step-daughter’s request for help. Every cell of her existence revolts against the idea; it was hard enough to accept that Emma was forcing her out of her own child’s life, but she cannot stomach the thought of Snow trying to fill her designer shoes while David plays a role that she’d been robbed of with Daniel. It’s just _wrong_, plan and simple, and Regina will not stand for it.

The decision to return to Storybrooke isn’t up to her alone though - at least she hopes it’s not - she needs to talk to Robin about this and they need to determine what’s best for all of them. At the same time, Regina needs to figure out if her presence is as damaging to everyone as she was sure it was just a few short hours ago. She’s not convinced that she isn’t evil, that this isn’t some sick joke, that she isn’t still putting everyone at risk just by being near them. She certainly doesn’t _feel_ different, she doesn’t feel as if she’s had some sort of monumental transformation that has granted her a permanent reprieve from her inner demons, and she’s been fooled too many times to think that her happy ending is just around the next corner.

Just then, she hears the pitter-patter of little feet slapping quickly against the sidewalk, followed by her named shouted merrily, “Regina!” which causes both her and Snow to turn toward the source.

She braces and catches Roland as he comes barreling into her - luckily her coffee cup is already empty - and she presses kisses into his bouncing curls as he half-climbs her like a spider monkey to wrap his arms and legs around her, apparently needing to be held. She laughs as she shifts around to assist him - he’s getting big but he’s strong enough to pretty much haul himself up these days, and she’ll never pass on the chance to be close to him.

After a moment, he notices Snow and shyly tucks his face in against Regina’s neck while he nervously twists one little hand into her long, dark hair, his brown eyes wide with curiosity as he looks the other woman over. Regina squeezes him tighter and introduces him to Snow, then murmurs reassurances in his ear, rubbing his back and telling him about the new friend he’s about to meet upstairs. Roland instantly relaxes, trusting her without question, and when Robin joins them a second later, smiling and toting his own coffee cup, the already sunny day feels just a little bit brighter, and Regina thinks she might just get through this.

* * *

They have a problem.

Well, they have several problems, actually, but there’s quite a large one staring them in the face right now, and Robin’s not sure if he’s being a selfish git or looking out for the best interest of his son by playing devil’s advocate, but he can’t seem to help himself.

He blames it on his restless night, which he spent half of staring at the ceiling, and half of staring out the window at the street, rehashing the last several months and all the foolish blunders he’s made. It’s incredibly disheartening to realize that all this time he thought he was making the right choices, he just kept making all the wrong ones.

The truth is, he’s never felt like he was good enough to be with Regina in the first place. Certainly his heart is pure, and he’s heroic - well-intentioned and all that - but when it comes to skill-set, cunning, and apparently intelligence he’s drastically outmatched, and they all know it.

He’s never pretended to be anything other than what he is though. A simple thief, a rogue - he can pick any lock, can slip in and out of dark places without being seen, can slit a throat without making a sound and of course, he never misses a shot with his bow. But that truly is the extent of his abilities, and he’s been basically useless since he arrived in Storybrooke. His _pointy sticks_ are nothing in comparison to Regina’s magic, and it’s not a competition, but he at least thought he could hold his own in a battle of wits. Now though, Zelena’s made such a fool of him that he can’t understand what Regina thinks he has to offer. In his opinion, she’s being quite short-sighted, actually, blinded by who she hoped he was, rather than who he actually is, which happens to be a man who apparently can’t tell the difference between a monster and his first love.

The fault of this situation with Zelena - the immense pain that Regina has suffered and the emotional turmoil that Henry has been through - is no one’s but Robin’s. No one in Storybrooke ever met Marian, they had no comparison, no idea who his wife was or what she was like. The Merry Men knew her but Zelena was clever enough to stay away from them, to stick to general pleasantries and let them lead the conversation when she couldn’t excuse herself from it. Looking back, the entire situation seems ludicrous. Robin spent fifteen years with Marian, and she’d never been one to skip out on giving Will a good ribbing, or asking John for one of his signature bear hugs when she saw them. How could Robin not know that impostor wasn’t her when it was _so obvious_?

Now he’s standing in his bedroom with Regina, her beautiful dark brown eyes trained on him like she thinks he’s god’s gift to her, her fingers threaded tightly through his as they discuss if and when they should give Roland the memory restoration potion. He knows they have to, he knows they’re going to go back to Storybrooke with Snow and Henry - it was never not going to be the answer. The second Robin got his memory back, he knew that’s where this was headed, he knew Regina would take one look at her son and she’d have one foot out the door, and that’s honestly alright, he’d do the same. But he’s struggling with this, because Roland’s been doing so well lately - they all have - and Robin has no idea how he’s going to explain to his son that his mum didn’t abandon him, she’s actually dead (again), and this entire life has been one big ruse. He’s too young to understand, and Robin is terrified he’s going to fuck him up even more than he already has. _Christ_.

“What happens if we don’t give it to him?” Robin asks, looking at their joined hands, marveling at how smooth and fine-boned her fingers are against his weathered and calloused ones. “Is it an option?”

She shakes her head. “Not if we return to Storybrooke. He won’t be able to understand the magic, he won’t grasp who he really is. Even though he’s young and he enjoys the concepts in his storybooks, the reality of it will be too much for him. Especially when he sees me, or you in action - I’m afraid it could split his mind.” She’s nervous, and he can see guilt in her features as she explains all this - no doubt she is blaming herself for having given him the potion in the first place.

“I just, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit apprehensive about this,” he scratches along the short stubble at his jawline. “It was difficult enough explaining his mother’s death the first time,” he sighs, “I don’t savor the idea of doing it again. Don’t you think this might do just as much damage?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she steps into him, reaching up to place one hand on his chest. “And you don’t have to risk it. I want you to do whatever you think is best for him - I would never force this on you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he places his hand over hers.

“If he does end up having a hard time in Storybrooke,” she says tentatively, “I could brew him another forgetting potion - to remove his memories of New York. He’d lose time but it might lessen his confusion.”

“A bloody potion isn’t the solution to everything,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to say it - it was a cheap shot and he knows she was just trying to help, but he doesn’t want to keep wiping his son’s memory. He doesn’t know what kind of long-term effects it might have on Roland to keep removing and restoring his memories, and he really doesn’t want to find out.

She drops her eyes and nods. “I know, I just wanted to make you aware of all the options, even if you aren’t interested in them.”

Robin sighs. “Sorry. I suppose the best we can do is see how he does first and take it from there. Let’s get this over with yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” she presses against his chest. “You don’t have to change anything, you know,” she clears her throat, then tips her chin up and looks him in the eyes. “If it’s what you wanted, you could stay here, in New York.”

“Regina I’m with you,” he tells her, “For as long as you’ll have me. Being together is what's best for all of us, of this, I'm certain.”

She tips her head to the side and searches his eyes, a deep crease in her brow giving away her concern. “I just want you to be sure,” she says firmly, and when he nods, she kisses him - a soft, slow press of her lips to his as she steps closer and wraps her arms around his neck.

“You’ll help me?” he asks nervously, “If Roland starts to, uh, to panic or what have you… you’ll help me?” He feels pathetic asking her for help, but he doesn’t trust anyone else with the task, and isn’t sure he knows what to do on his own.

“Of course,” she kisses him again. “Whatever you need, whatever he needs.”

Overall, Roland takes it better than Robin expected. His son has quite a meltdown when all the memories come rushing back, and especially when Robin explains that Marian wasn’t actually Marian. It’s much too complicated for a five-year-old to piece together, and it takes the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon for Robin, Regina, Snow, and Henry to sort him out to a point where the boy isn’t a tearful mess. Once he calms enough, Regina takes him and puts him down for a nap, then Robin spends the next two hours with her, going over their next steps in detail.

The easy decisions are made first. They agree that they’ll go as soon as possible for multiple reasons, but for Robin and Regina there are two clear winners. The most important thing is that Henry is missing school, which the boy admits with an abashed red face and down-turned eyes that he really can’t afford to be, since he’s on the cusp of failing most of his classes. The second reason is that according to Snow, the Storybrooke government system is teetering so precariously that it might fall at any moment, so they shouldn’t delay any longer than necessary or they risk returning to a state of total anarchy.

The other decisions aren’t so easy.

“Where will we live?” Henry asks quietly. “Our old house is, well, there’s nothing but ashes left. But if it’s okay, I want to stay with you. I don’t care where.”

Regina agrees that Henry can stay with her without so much as looking at Snow. It seems the Princess's opinion no longer matters on that topic.

“How did you find us?” Robin asks. “If all of Regina’s things were destroyed in the fire, how did you manage to track her here?”

Henry perks up, his chest puffing out a bit. “I remembered that Granny has a lost and found at the diner,” he smiles at Regina, and shrugs. “I looked through it but there wasn’t anything in there. Granny asked me what I was looking for, and she remembered she had something of yours in her office from the last time she saw you. She said she didn’t want to put it in the lost and found because _the Queen would never forgive her if she placed her personal items in with those of the common population_.”

Regina is smiling just a little as she asks him, “What was it?”

“Your blue scarf.”

Regina winces and looks down, then at Robin. He can tell from the way she tenses that she doesn’t want to get into whatever conversation she had with Granny when she left her scarf with her, so he attempts to move things along.

“And you used the scarf for what purpose?” he prompts.

“We got Gold to use a tracking spell on it, and it led us here,” Snow obligingly fills him in.

They decide that in the short-term, Regina and Henry will take a room at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, while Robin and Roland will camp with the Merry Men. It’s not ideal, especially for Robin - he can’t stand the idea of being away from Regina for more than a few minutes, but he certainly can’t argue that she and Henry stay at camp. Well, actually, he _did_ try to argue it, but from the tight smile she tried to give him and the way her eyes couldn’t quite hold his when he mentioned sleeping in a tent and cooking over a fire, he quickly rescinded his offer and suggested she and Henry stay at the B and B.

He’s got to get himself together before he makes an even bigger arse of himself than he already has. The forest is no place for a lady - Regina is a _Queen_, for christ’s sake, and it’s about time he’s treated her like one. She doesn’t belong on a cot in a tent, huddled together with him for warmth while the crickets and frogs sing them to sleep. She belongs in a huge, soft bed where she can stretch out under silk sheets and sink into feather pillows while the gas fireplace in the corner keeps her nice and toasty - just like she had before her house burned down. After everything she’s been through recently, he’s a selfish git to want her to have anything less than that. So although he’s going to hate their temporary separation, he bites his tongue on the matter and they make the rest of their plans as if everything is normal and completely fine. As if not sleeping next to her every night isn’t going to tear his heart out of his chest more painfully than if she did it herself. She needs to be with Henry now, and he’s got to stop being so bloody needy.

He spends the rest of the evening going through his and Roland’s things, deciding what to bring with them and what to leave here in New York. They’ve opted to keep the apartment for the time being - Regina expressed interest in seeing Dr. Li again, and since it appears the two of them can cross the Storybrooke town line without too much trouble, it makes sense to keep the apartment for now, in case she wants to follow through on that. He doesn’t say so, but Robin also thinks it’s a good idea to keep it as a backup, just in case they arrive in Storybrooke and things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t trust Snow, or any of the Charmings for that matter, and Regina’s mind is still very much in a fragile state. It might be nice to have someplace for them to go to get away from it all, someplace that they can be together without the stress and responsibilities they’re about to walk back into. He wants her to have somewhere that she can truly relax and let go of her worries, and he thinks this might be as close to that as can give her, because here he’s her equal, and he’s actually capable of looking after her.

He calls his boss and quits, which is oddly less satisfying than he thought it would be, particularly when the man tries to give him not one, but two significant increases in pay in order to get him to stay. Robin wonders if he would have learned to like that job in the long haul, if he’d have eventually gotten good enough to have made a decent life for the three of them here, and what it might have felt like to be normal, to rush home to his little family as the years flew by. It’s a silly fantasy and a selfish one - one he needs to forget about, because it was all make believe anyway, built on lies and half-truths, and he needs to try to get back to what they were building before, back when he _thought_ Henry was all for their family of four. Which brings up another point - he and Henry haven't discussed their relationship at all yet.

Regina is currently occupied with Roland in their bedroom, tucking him in with Ozzy the Monkey and reading to him, Snow has already gone to bed in Roland’s room, and he and Henry are sitting quietly in the living room with the telly on. There really isn’t a better time than the present for him to broach the subject.

“So…” Robin starts nervously, biting his bottom lip and looking over at Henry, who is sprawled lengthwise across the couch. The boy flicks his eyes to Robin, then back to the telly, but doesn’t otherwise respond. “I suppose we ought to clear the air, yeah?”

Henry shrugs.

Robin resists the urge to scowl. That’s not exactly the heartfelt apology he had been hoping for.

“I know that this has been difficult, and it’s going to be a tough adjustment going forward,” he tries, hating the way he sounds. He feels old, he feels like his father and he hates it. “But you and I, we’ve got to figure out a way to get along, you know? It’s important for your mum, and it’s important for me, too. We’ve got to be there for her, and I’d really like it if we could try to start off on the right foot, if you and I and Roland could be a team, regardless of what’s happened in the past.”

Henry furrows his brow and slides his eyes suspiciously back to Robin, studying him for a moment. “Just like that?” he asks.

Robin glances around, confused. “What do you mean?”

“After what I did, you’re just going to forgive me, you’re just going to be nice to me? Just like that?” he repeats incredulously, a scowl on his face that is so reminiscent of Regina that Robin almost laughs.

It’s Robin’s turn to shrug. “Well, yeah.” Henry doesn’t look convinced. “But you know,” he adds, “it might help me understand where you were coming from, if you tell me just why you were so hell-bent on getting rid of me. I was under the impression we got along, that you were good with me and your mum being together, before everything went belly-up.”

Henry’s face reddens and he looks back at the telly for so long that Robin is certain that the boy isn’t going to answer, but then he’s surprised when he says quietly. “I was.”

“Oh?”

“But then…”

“Then?”

Henry sighs dramatically and sits up, clasps his hands together between his knees and faces Robin.

“But then I ran into Marian at the park, and she was really upset,” he confesses. “She started telling me how in the fairy tale Robin Hood is in love with Maid Marian, and how it’s wrong for the Evil Queen to be involved - how she shouldn’t even be _in_ that fairy tale, and how you were going to choose her anyway and it would change _all_ the fairy tales, and I got so confused,” he shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair, just like his mother does when she’s upset. “Then I couldn’t shake the thought that ‘what if she’s right’, you know? What if you two being together was going to mess up all the other happy endings? And then Marian’s ice curse came back right when you told my mom you wanted to be with her, and then I found out about how you guys were uh, you know, in _the vault_ and stuff, and it all just seemed like what Marian said was true. Everyone started talking about how you guys were having an affair and how wrong it was, and then Emma said Mom could have found a cure for Marian’s curse if she hadn’t spent all her time _on her knees_-” Henry blushes bright red, as does Robin, both of them totally embarrassed by what he’s just said. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Robin cringes, “It’s alright.”

“And the more I talked about it the more Grandpa and Emma and even Grandma agreed with me,” he continues, “and Mom just _wouldn’t_ admit that you guys shouldn’t be together, that I might be right. She kept treating me like a baby, bossing me around and ordering me to come home - she wouldn’t even try to listen to me, and, and -”

“Alright, now,” Robin soothes, moving to the couch and wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Let’s dial it down a notch, yeah?”

Henry takes a deep breath and nods, scratching his hands through his dark hair as Robin squeezes his shoulder. Robin gets it, to an extent. He understands the teenage struggle of wanting to feel like an adult, of needing validation and feeling important. It’s just that in Henry’s case, it’s been taken to the extreme - it’s been done under an extenuating circumstance that led to terrible consequences, and he honestly feels a bit bad for the kid.

“I didn’t know it was Zelena,” Henry gripes. “Everything would have been different if I had known it was her.”

“Maybe,” Robin shrugs. “Or maybe not.”

Henry frowns, and Robin drops his arm from him.

“Look, you’ve got to learn to make up your own mind about things - to not be influenced by what others want you to think, or by what you _think _they want you to think.” Henry looks irritated, but Robin charges on, he’s been simmering on this for longer than he’d like to admit. “You know your mum better than anyone - you’ve always been the person who believes in her most. But you and I both know that this boils down to the fact that you let yourself get carried away in a bunch of madness all because you were cheesed off about having to follow her rules.”

Henry tries to interrupt, but Robin doesn’t allow it.

“Now, I know things are different with Emma, I know things are different with Snow and David - they let you do what you want, when you want, however you want. And since you were ten years old you’ve been determined to call them your “Mom” and “Grandma” and “Grandpa” and what-have-you; but you’ve forgotten what matters more than titles and family trees. Being a family doesn’t always mean you’re related by blood, Henry - it’s so much more than that.”

Robin pauses to let that sink in before he continues, and Henry’s shoulders slump a little as he listens quietly.

“Have you forgotten who nursed you when you were sick? Who rocked you to sleep when you had nightmares? Who spent hours doing arts and crafts with you? And who went to seven - _seven_ \- different stores to buy you those ridiculously expensive earphones for your fifteenth birthday, just because you had to have the limited edition blue ones, and everywhere was sold out by the time you’d finally told her what you wanted? Cause that’s not Emma, and it’s not Snow, and it’s not David, and it isn't even me, now is it?”

Henry shakes his head no.

“And yeah - she’s yelled at you, and set curfews, and grounded you too, because sometimes that’s just what parents have to do. You know, we don’t always get to be the good guys - sometimes to keep you safe, or to teach you how to be responsible, we have to do things that don’t make you very happy. But you know what, that doesn’t make us very happy either. We don’t enjoy doing that - if it were up to us it’d be roses all the time, but it just doesn’t work that way.”

By the time Robin finishes his lecture, Henry looks like maybe he gets it, so Robin figures he should stop while he’s ahead.

“Look,” he bumps Henry with his shoulder, “All I’m asking is that you use that brilliant head of yours to think for yourself. If someone tells you to jump off a bridge -”

“I know, I know,” Henry mutters. “Don’t jump.”

“At least ask how high the bloody thing is first,” Robin attempts a joke and is relieved when Henry smirks.

They’re not fixed, not by a long shot, but at least the ice is broken, and Robin feels like maybe he can depend on Henry not to make the same mistakes again, should the Charmings decide to act like judgmental halfwits in the future. He’s a smart boy, just badly influenced and riddled with teenage hormones, and Robin is hopeful that if he and Regina build a bit of structure back into his life, that perhaps they can help him vent all that pent up frustration more constructively than lashing out in fits of temper and trying to buck the system. Idly, he wonders if an opportunity will present itself when they get back to Storybrooke, and suddenly he can’t kick the idea. He wants to help Henry, he wants to make things right, wants to make their family whole again.

Regina rejoins them in the living room once Roland has dozed off in their bed, and when she settles in on the couch between them, Henry flops over to rest his head on her thigh, falling asleep within minutes. She leans into Robin, sighing softly, no doubt exhausted from the craze of the last two days. She’s calm though, more so than he’s seen since she came to New York, and he supposes that’s a good sign, likely due to the fact that her son is here and he’s forgiven her for her made-up transgressions.

It’s strange to think that the boy is sixteen and how different life was for Robin when he was that age. He’d already run away from home, off to start his life of crime, had gotten into loads of trouble, met John and Alan and inadvertently started up his band of Merry Men. Suddenly, an idea strikes him, and he thinks he might know just the thing to do to set things right, or at least to get them started down the right path, if only he can convince Regina to agree to it.

He turns to ask her but finds that she has dozed off against his shoulder, so he kisses the top of her head instead and holds his tongue. She needs to rest, needs to feel loved and comforted, so he slides out from under her and leaves the Mills family there to sleep for the night, not wanting to intrude, knowing how much she needs time with Henry like this.

He’s restless though, and when it gets to be three in the morning and he still can’t sleep, Robin throws on a hoodie and some jeans and silently slips out of the apartment. It’s dark tonight, and quiet for the city - the air hangs heavy and humid, and he can almost taste the rain as he crosses the street to the alleyway that faces his apartment. He leans against the wall and looks up at his window, which is dark now and locked up tight - he knows because he triple checked it before bed, as usual. He thinks about the people behind that window - his son, Regina’s son, her step-daughter…. But mostly he thinks about _her_.

He thinks about how she stood here for so many nights, all alone, just watching them live their lives. About how she must have felt _awful_ seeing him with “Marian,” and how she couldn’t help but to give Roland his favorite plushie on his birthday. Robin wonders how many times he saw her out his window and didn’t realize his soulmate was staring right back at him. He lets anger and self-loathing rage through him over the fact that she was fifty paces away, that her heart was shattered to pieces because of him, that she was mutilating herself on a regular basis in some fucked-up form of self-penance while he was frolicking about like a happy hippy, oblivious because he hadn’t been smart enough to ask one simple question before he ate that damned potion-laced cake.

_Why_.

He should have asked her _why _she needed him to do it and he hadn’t. He’d stupidly, blindly just done what she said she needed, and he’ll never get over how he has failed her in this. He should know that what Regina thinks she needs and what she actually needs are often not the same thing. Case in point - when he met her during the missing year, she’d been hell-bent on putting herself under a sleeping curse in order to avoid the pain of losing her son, so he should know that she doesn’t always think clearly when it comes to Henry. He should have known, _christ _he should have known. _Fuck_.

“What’re you doing?”

He startles badly, expletives spilling quietly from his lips when Regina appears next to him as if out of thin air. Her voice had been soft, she hadn’t met to scare him, but he’d been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t heard her approach him at all.

Robin nods toward the apartment window. “Just taking in the view.”

She doesn’t turn to look. “I woke up and you were gone. If it hadn’t been for Roland…”

He looks her over and can tell from the crease of her brow that she’s legitimately upset, so he steps closer and wraps her up in his arms. “Couldn’t sleep,” he breathes in deeply against her neck. God, she always smells so good.

“Why?”

He shrugs, but she puts her hands on his waist and digs her fingers in a little, so he says, “That’s what I should have asked. If I’d have asked that one word before I ate that cake, none of this would have happened.”

“Robin,” she chides, flattening her palms and stroking up and down his sides. “You’re not to blame. I gave you the potion, this is my doing - you didn’t have a choice in the matter, don’t you remember? I was going to trick you into eating it before Henry showed up. This is on me.”

“Like hell,” he steps back. “I _know_ you, and I know what you’re capable of,” he argues. “Sure you would have tricked me, but if I had bothered to ask you why you needed me to take the potion, you would have told me the truth, wouldn’t you?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Then you should be angry with Zelena, not yourself,” she tries again. “If she hadn’t -”

“I should have known it was her,” Robin interrupts. “I should have known from the second I saw her, spoke with her - from the moment she interacted with Roland I should have known she was a fraud.” He huffs out a breath and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets. “You can shake this tree any way you’d like, Regina, and sure, Zelena put us all in this mess, but I’m the one who should have figured it out, I’m the one who let it get as far as it did. I’m the reason for those marks on your arm, and you’ll not convince me otherwise.”

“Can you read Elvish?”

“What?” That’s a bloody ridiculous question.

“Elvish. Can. You. Read. It?” She’s clearly irritated, her shoulders squared as she faces off with him.

He scowls. “Of course not.”

“How about a sleeping curse? Can you cast one?” Now she’s quite arrogant, tilting her head to one side, her body language positively haughty.

“No.”

“What about shapeshifting? Are you skilled in the art?”

He shakes his head.

“Teleportation? Conjuration?”

“What does this have to do with anything?!” he snaps.

“Zelena used _magic _to fool every single person in Storybrooke, including me,” she bites back, tipping her chin up while she puts her hands on her hips. “If _I_ couldn’t tell that she was doing it, and _I_ am an expert in magic that you have absolutely no knowledge or experience with, how the hell can you expect yourself to have seen through it?”

Robin opens his mouth to argue, can’t think of anything, and promptly shuts it.

“I will never blame you for what happened,” she softens her voice, “and I won’t allow you to blame yourself for it. Things happened to me because I,” she pauses, furrows her brow and tries again, “because I lost control. And I don’t know who I am, or what kind of effect I have on the people around me. I need to figure that out, Robin, and I’m going to try, but you need to know that you’re everything _good_ \- you’re the only thing that was light when everything was dark, and without you, I...”

When she trails off, her dark eyes shining with emotion and unshed tears, he kisses her without meaning to. He knows he really should have given her a moment to finish her sentence, but he’s so in love with her that he can’t hold back for another second.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind.

Regina wraps her arms around his neck as he hugs her to him, lifting her feet right off the asphalt while he kisses her with everything he’s got, determined to give her one good memory - one smile, one thought - that doesn’t break her heart when she inevitably thinks back on this gloomy place where she spent so many miserable nights. He kisses her until they’re breathless - tongues sweeping and exploring, noses brushing - until their lips are swollen and his arms are aching from holding her up, then he slowly, reluctantly lets her slide down his body, returning her to the ground while peppering her face with still more kisses. They pause - nose to nose, hands stroking gently - just living in the body heat of one another before he takes her hand in his and they turn to stare up at the dark window across the street. After several minutes of silence, Regina sighs, and Robin takes it as a sign that it’s time to go, so he tightens his fingers around hers and leads the way back toward the apartment. Although her eyes are as dark and as serious as he has ever seen them, Regina comes with him willingly, _faithfully_, and though they have both suffered greatly as of late, he can admit that what he’s feeling right now is nothing short of blessed.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

** _ Storybrooke, September 23rd, 2016 _ **

This should be the easy part, but for some reason, it’s not.

Regina’s not sure why she’s hesitating, why she’s standing here _outside_ of Storybrooke where she doesn’t have her magic, why she’s rooted to the pavement, just out of reach from the part of her that was so callously ripped out the second she crossed the town line. She’s trembling - there is a mixture of terror and excitement rushing through her veins, making her teeth chatter, making her chest shake, and she’s shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket so the boys won’t see. She knows that Robin knows, though - he’s always watching her, he always catches on when she tries to hide these little things.

He sends the boys across the line with Snow, and it hurts her to watch them go, to watch Henry furrow his brow before he goes like he suspects something is wrong but he can’t quite figure it out. Regina’s going to join them, _she is_, but she’s not ready yet, she needs a few more minutes. She’s been living without her magic for a long time now, and truth be told, she’s afraid of what’s going to happen when she gets it back. She’s been crippled without it in the best of ways - she’s not powerful, not special - nothing more than a somewhat normal person, but the second she re-enters Storybrooke she becomes the Queen again. She doesn’t know what effect this will have on the darkness inside of her or how she’s going to react when it all comes rushing back, and it doesn’t help that when it happens, she’s going to be surrounded by the people she loves most in this entire realm. Realistically speaking, not one of them is strong enough to stop her, and should things go south, should she combust in a show of rage, death, and destruction, this could easily be the worst day of her life. So she’s really not sure she wants to jump across the town line when they’re all well within her vile reach.

“It’s alright, darling,” Robin says just loud enough for her to hear while he comfortingly runs his hand down her arm. Apparently he’s read her expression and knows she’s nervous. “Take as long as you need.”

“You should take the boys and go,” she suggests. She can’t see Snow, Henry, or Roland, but she knows they’re waiting just on the other side of the barrier and it sends a prickle of fear down her spine. What if she hurts them? What if she _kills _them?

“Take them into town and I’ll catch up as soon as I can, I promise.” Her words sound forced even to her own ears, but Robin just tips his head to the side and steps closer to her.

“Regina, I’m with you,” he says stubbornly, “and I’m not going anywhere without you.”

She sighs in frustration. “I’m coming, I just need a little time is all.”

“Then I’ll wait with you,” he shrugs, stepping closer and stroking his fingers sweetly along her cheek to cup her jaw. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

Robin kisses her and she slowly, begrudgingly kisses him back - pouting that he won’t leave her be - that he’s being as hardheaded as she is about this. He bumps the tip of her nose with his, and she breaks her silence.

“What if,” she whispers, “What if I get my magic back and I really _am_ evil? What if I can’t control it?” Regina searches his eyes for the flickering doubt, for the fear she expects, almost hoping to see reflected back at her.

She finds none. Robin looks concerned, but not at all afraid or unsure of her.

“You’re _not _evil.” he starts, but Regina starts to shake her head in protest, so he brings his other hand up to cup both sides of her face.

“Perhaps you were at one time, but you’re not now, not anymore. I know you, and you’ve changed. You’ve made up for your mistakes, and you have more control than you give yourself credit for.”

He bends his knees and ducks his head so he’s looking up into her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, my love,” he reassures her, “When you get your magic back you’re not going to feel anything but good, and whole, and strong again. I _promise _you,” he punctuates this last part with a kiss, and she’s fighting back tears of worry but he’s so sure of himself, so sure of _her_ that she finds herself nodding, fisting her hands tightly in his jacket, and clinging to his beliefs like a lifeline.

“Let’s do it together, yeah?” he asks, and when she nods, he reaches for her right hand, raises it and presses her palm over his heart. Then he starts to slowly, _slowly_ walk backward toward the town line, tugging her with him one step at a time, both of his hands clasped tightly over hers so that she knows there’s no way he’s letting go of her. Instead of scaring her, his hold comforts her, lets her know he’s serious, that he’s not afraid, and his confidence is contagious.

Robin is absolutely unwavering in his faith in her - he keeps his eyes trained on her, nodding encouragingly, reminding her, “That’s it love,” with pride showing in the lines around his eyes as he tells her, “There - you’ve got it.”

Regina turns her focus to Robin instead of on her fear, and she gets caught up in him, in _them_ \- in how he has this ability to make her feel so human, so feminine, so loved. The next thing she knows her feet are accelerating, striding right at him so she can throw her arms around his shoulders and kiss him how he deserves, how she wants, how she’s stubbornly resisted for however many months because she’s been a shadow of herself and he’s somehow managed to help her find her way back into the light again. She crashes her lips against his, immediately tugs at his lower lip with her teeth, seeking entrance to his mouth, wanting to be as close as possible, needing to feel the slick, hot slide of his tongue as it plays against hers. She moans quietly when he complies and tightens her arms around his thick neck, pushing her chest right up against his, breathing in his breaths, enjoying the rough scrape of his stubble against her chin and cheeks as their faces press so close together. The teasing smack of their parting lips is inappropriately loud when she pulls back and tilts her head the other direction, but she doesn’t care what’s appropriate. She just wants to feel him, to taste him, to hold him, so she threads her fingers in his hair while she moves her lips steadily against his, pushing and pulling between slow strokes and quick flicks of their tongues.

It’s only a few heated seconds before he starts to laugh though, the rumble in his chest jostling her, the deep vibration causing her to break the kiss, and when she opens her eyes - slightly annoyed - he’s already looking at her and grinning.

“Well, I’m not sure if it was your intention, but you’ve done it.” Robin’s bright blue eyes are full of mirth as he loosens his arms around her and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Have a look.”

He steps to the side and she can now see Henry, Roland, and Snow all waiting for them. Henry is _very_ pink cheeked, apparently embarrassed from watching his mother kiss the daylights out of her boyfriend, and Snow is quietly crying (Regina fights an eye roll), while Roland plays hopscotch along the cracks in the pavement. Regina turns around and sure enough, she’s about a foot over the spray painted town line, her momentum during the kiss having carried her right over without her realizing it.

Regina rolls her shoulders and closes her eyes, breathes deeply and waits to feel that thrum of energy that she hasn’t felt in months. She waits for the surge of power that was like a second nervous system, the part of her that was absolute agony to give up in every form of the word - physically, mentally, emotionally. Leaving behind her magic was like cutting out both of her lungs and seeing how long she could survive without them.

Regina makes a fist and holds her hand out in front of her while she attempts to make a fireball. She doesn’t really feel different, but she doesn’t know if that’s because she actually feels normal now, or because her magic simply hasn’t returned. Perhaps it will take a few minutes, or days, or even weeks before she’s back to full strength again, she simply doesn’t know.

She relaxes her fingers when after a few seconds nothing happens, and she looks to Robin, unsure what to say. But then suddenly, a few small flames flicker in her palm, and when she turns her full attention to it, a legitimate fireball flares to life.

Regina grins, Henry cheers, and Roland whoops with excitement (though she’s certain he doesn’t know what for), and as she watches her signature orange flames dance, the Queen finally feels like she can breathe again.


	21. Chapter Twenty

** _ Storybrooke, September 23rd, 2016 _ **

Robin had expected a warm welcome from the Merry Men, and he hadn’t been disappointed. He knows his men well, and he knew that at the very least John would be relieved to relinquish his leadership role and that the large man would be ecstatic to see Roland. The two had had a special relationship since the littlest Merry Man was an infant - John had always been extra protective of Roland, had always taken an interest in him and been closer than all the others, and when they’d left for New York, Robin had hated separating them.

So it was with no great shock that the Locksley’s were received with open arms. However, it did come as a complete surprise that there were cheers of support and esteem that went up in favor of _Regina_. As word of the dark-haired monarch’s return quickly spread, shouts of, “God save the Queen!” and “Long live Regina!” echoed enthusiastically throughout the forest, and the men came rushing toward the center of the camp from each of their tent sites, obediently dropping to one knee with their bows and daggers thrown out before them in offering before the Queen as she looked on in complete bewilderment, her dark eyes flickering to Robin as if to say, “What the hell?”

Robin had never seen such a display of allegiance from his men. They had certainly never pledged themselves to a King or Queen before - in fact, it went against most of what they stood for - stealing from the rich and giving to the poor and all that. All he could do in response was shrug, he was as confused as she was, but then Little John appeared at the far edge of camp and Roland called out to him, “Uncle John!” and they’d both gotten thoroughly distracted.

His boy had taken off like an arrow, running straight for John and hadn’t slowed even a pace before flinging himself full-force at the large man. Luckily, John was used to such antics and easily caught the boy, swung him wildly around in the air by his arms, turned him upside down and caught him by one ankle, to which Roland screamed with delight and Regina grabbed Robin’s bicep forcefully, digging in her fingernails so sharply that she caused him to hiss in pain.

“It’s alright,” he’d placed his hand over hers and chuckled, “they do this all the time.”

Regina had relaxed a tad, but had made a disapproving sound low in her throat that made him smile even more over her blatant concern for Roland’s safety. When he looked back to John and his son, the big man had righted his boy and set him up on his broad shoulders, and Robin could tell John was fighting back tears, even as he lumbered around and pretended to be a troll. Robin had smirked - the only thing bigger than John’s frame was his heart.

Snow had decided to continue on to town, stating that she had to get home to the rest of her family, then she made a rather awkward departure and left the Mills and Locksley families to sort things out.

An hour later, Robin finds himself next to the campfire, three ales deep with John, playing cards with Henry and Roland while Regina inspects his - or rather _her_ \- Merry Men. It seems that Snow White’s time as Mayor has taken its toll on the men, and they’re thrilled to have their rightful Queen back in power. John explains to Robin that when Regina left, rumor spread that she had gone in search of Robin, and now that they have reappeared together, the men have given her the credit for the return of their leader. Robin has no reason to correct any of these assumptions and in fact, he supports them whole-heartedly as John tells him about them. Robin fills in a few blanks when he’s asked but leaves out anything that might shine a bad light on Regina - no one else needs to know what she went through, only that she’s come back, stronger than ever, and he’s proud of her, so excited to see her flourish and rebuild herself into the person he’s always known she is. She’s always been capable of doing incredible things, both for herself and this town, and he thinks she’s finally going to get a fair chance to do it.

It’s rather brilliant to watch her accept the vows of his men. He hasn’t seen her so collected, so on her stride in a long time. She’s wearing the mask of the Queen right now, but not in a bad way; just in a way that has her standing up straight and professional, has her smiling calmly and politely, tipping her head to the side and asking the name of each man as they kneel for her and pledge their weapons to her crown. It’s quite a sight, and something neither of them had ever expected.

Robin can see that she’s overwhelmed though, that this is a lot to be hit with all at once, and he wishes she had her designer clothes, hats, and heels like she used to so she’d feel a bit more confident. He knows that her worn leather boots, cotton leggings, and pilled wool coat don’t give her the same protection as some of the posh looks he’s seen her tote as mayor, not to mention that she no longer wears much makeup, and her long hair is wavy and loose. Regina looks like a soft, natural version of her old self, and while Robin certainly isn’t complaining - he loves her like this, prefers it even - he wonders how she feels without the armor of her carefully constructed appearance right now. He wonders if she cares, or if this is how she’ll present herself from now on. Somehow, he thinks this is probably a limited time thing, but he hopes at least at home he’ll still get to see her this way, and maybe because his men have seen her like this, she’ll be more comfortable around them too. Perhaps she’ll see herself not necessarily as one of them - they all know she’s better than that - but more like she doesn’t have to pretend, she doesn’t have to give them a show when she is with them. If she could relax, or heaven’s, learn to trust the Merry Men even a little, that would make Robin so bloody happy that he could probably live the rest of his days in peace.

By the time they get through all the introductions, Robin gets his tent set up, they track down Henry - who is off climbing trees with Much the Miller’s son - and they pry Roland away from Little John (it’s Regina who coaxes him away in the end, actually, not Robin,) it’s nearly dark. To save time, Regina poofs the four of them into town so she and Henry can get checked into Granny’s B&B, and Robin is nothing short of relieved when the old woman doesn’t make a scene when she first sets eyes on the Queen. She goes rather still behind the counter at the diner, her eyes sharp over the beige rims of her glasses as she gives the four of them an assessing once-over, but then she goes back to drying the glass in her hand and asks, “Coffee?”

Granny sets Regina and Henry up in one of her larger rooms that includes two double beds and an attached bathroom, spouting some nonsense that business is slow, when Robin clearly saw her change a reservation in her book in order to make the room available, but he doesn’t say a word about it. He loves this about the old lady - she’s always looked out for Regina as if she was one of her own pack, and Robin is certain she has at least _something_ to do with the fact that Regina chose a fate less than fatal when she decided to punish herself for the crimes she was so convinced she was guilty of. Granny’s about the only other person in this town who must know what it’s like to be accused of being a monster - well, Granny and Red - and Robin is glad that Regina had someone around to support her when he was off mucking about in New York.

He does his best to help them unpack what little they have, and everything goes smoothly until it’s time for the Locksley’s to head back to camp, which is when Roland decides to have a full-on meltdown. His son becomes totally distraught over the idea that he must be parted from Regina - he’s been clingy with her since they gave him the memory restoration potion - but it appears that the concept of spending one whole night without her is far too much to handle, which Robin more than sympathizes with.

“But, but, but,” Roland whines loudly, tears streaming down his round cheeks as he sits in Regina’s lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her chest. “Who’s gonna read s-storybooks t-to me?” he sobs and buries his face against her.

Regina looks positively heartbroken as she rubs his back and rocks side to side on the bed she’s sitting on. “Your Papa can read your storybooks tonight, sweetie,” she soothes. “You like when he reads to you - he does all the funny voices and makes the _silliest_ sounds, remember?” She’s fighting tears too, and Robin feels lost, like he doesn’t know who to comfort first. He looks at Henry for help, but the boy just shrugs.

“Roland,” Robin drops down to his knees in front of Regina and his son, “Come now, my boy, there’s no reason to be so upset. We’ll come back first thing in the morning to see Regina and Henry. You’ll barely be apart for more than a few hours. And I’ll read you as many storybooks tonight as you please,” he bargains. He doesn’t really want to leave either, but they have to give Regina and Henry whatever space they need.

“Nooo!” Roland cries harder, wrenching away from Robin and pressing himself harder against Regina. Then, to make matters worse, he starts _screaming_, “Don’t make me! Don’t make me! Don’t make meee!”

His quickly becomes hysterical, fear evident in his voice as he climbs Regina and tightens his arms around her neck. Robin has never in his life seen Roland throw a fit like this. He’s seen him have tantrums, has seen him throw himself down on the ground and pound his fists, kick his legs, pout terribly, yell until he was positively purple - but this is totally different. His son is _terrified_, and it shakes Robin, scares him so much that he actually backs away, locking eyes with Regina as he shakes his head and holds up his hands in a silent admission of, “I don’t know what to do.”

Regina starts to rock Roland a bit more, pressing her lips to his ear and murmuring reassurances while she strokes his hair. He continues to wail and clutch at her like he’s drowning, his little body jerking against her with the force of his cries as he struggles for air, and Robin drops his head in his hands, feeling like a bloody-fucking-failure. Roland won’t let him take him, won’t let him anywhere near him, and he knows it’s because he’s lost his son’s faith in him, he’s fucked him up proper over these past months, he’s put him through hell and now he’s jerked the rug out from under him once again. It’s no wonder that he wants to stay with Regina, and no matter how he wracks his brain, Robin can’t come up with an argument for why they have to leave other than, “because we have to,” so he keeps his mouth shut and hopes Regina can help him fix this.

After several more minutes of listening to Roland’s tortured sobs, it’s actually Henry who saves the day. Robin is shocked when the older boy, who had taken up residence on the other bed, seemingly of his own accord shifts over to join Regina and Roland.

“Hey buddy,” Henry says quietly, rubbing Roland's pudgy arm to get his attention. “Remember when we used to watch movies together at the big white house?” he asks.

Roland continues to cry, but he nods against Regina’s shoulder.

“That was a lot of fun wasn’t it?” Henry asks, and Roland nods again. “We can’t go to the big white house anymore, and we don’t have any storybooks here, but if it’s okay with your dad, maybe you could stay here and we could watch movies together like we used to.”

Roland sniffles loudly and raises his head to look at Henry over Regina’s shoulder. “You have m-movies here?” he whimpers, rubbing one little hand over his face.

Henry nods, his face very serious as he scoots a little closer to them. “Yeah, Granny has satellite, so she has tons of movies we can watch.” Henry glances up at his mother. “Would that be okay with you, Mom?”

“Yeah, issit okay with you, ‘Gina?” Roland asks pathetically, leaning back and tangling Regina’s dark hair in his little hands.

“I don’t know,” is what she says, but from her tone Robin is pretty sure it’s a ruse. “That was a _very_ big fit you just threw, mister,” she scolds, but there’s no heat in it.

Roland ducks his head in shame, but she puts her fingers under his chin and lifts his face to hers. “Can you use your words and tell me what’s wrong, sweetie?” she asks him, kissing his forehead and brushing his curls out of his eyes, then fishing a wet wipe out of god-knows-where to clean up his face.

Roland goes shy on her and doesn’t say much until she’s done wiping his tear tracks and runny nose, but then they have a whispered conversation that Robin can’t hear from his spot on the floor. When they’re done, however, Roland nods enthusiastically and hops down off of her lap before he comes over to Robin, throws himself into his arms and says, “Sorry, Papa,” while he hugs him tightly. Robin meets her tired eyes across the room as he kisses his son, and one thought echoes over and over through his head - that woman is a bloody godsend.

Needless to say, the Locksley's wind up staying the night at the B&B, partially because of Roland’s tantrum, but also because Regina pulls Robin aside when the boys are brushing their teeth and asks them to.

“I’m not ready,” she whispers quickly, tugging him close so she can speak as softly as possible.

“For what?” Robin strokes the curve of her shoulder, unable to keep his hands to himself when he’s this close to her.

“To be alone with him,” she admits, squinting, a look of guilt plastered across her beautiful features. “With Henry. I’m scared that I - that you know, the darkness… inside of me… that I’ll hurt him, that somehow I’ll ruin this, _him_.”

“You’ve been alone with Roland loads of times,” he reasons, “And _he’s _just fine.”

“Roland is different,” she argues. “He’s not affected, he’s just, I don’t know, he’s immune or something.”

Robin’s heart swells - _christ_, she’s precious. “Darling,” he tries, “there’s no difference in our boys. You’re not evil, you’re not some sort of infectious disease to Henry, and he’s not particularly susceptible to you. You’re going to be fine with him, just like you were for fifteen years. You know that you were taken advantage of, that you didn’t do anything wrong, yeah?” he asks.

She narrows her eyes in annoyance.

“Fine, you didn’t do _much_ wrong - at the very least, you can agree that you’re not entirely at fault, right?” he figures he’ll start with baby steps if she’s going to fight him on this.

She takes a deep breath and sighs, and he knows that’s as good as he’s going to get from her tonight, so he doesn’t push further.

“But I’ll gladly stay if that’s what you’d like. To be honest I wasn’t looking forward to our separation in the slightest, but I wanted to give you and Henry whatever time alone you need to reconnect.” At his admission, her expression immediately softens. “So you’ll need to tell me when to bugger off and when to stick close, alright?” he squeezes her shoulder, “‘Cause I’d much prefer to stick close.” Robin kisses her, and she nods, sinking into him a little and sighing contentedly against his lips - one of her soft hands wrapping around the back of his neck to stroke tenderly just before the boys rejoin them in the bedroom.

They settle in for the night - both boys curled up in bed with Regina, Robin in the other bed - and he’s admittedly jealous about his lack of cuddles, but figures he can survive one night without. The three of them are asleep within twenty minutes of starting their selected cartoon anyway, and he doesn’t even bother trying to watch it. He’s exhausted too, so he tucks in and recounts the day while he thanks his lucky stars for the chance to spend this time together with his family.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke, September 24th, 2016  _ **

Since it’s Saturday, Regina and Robin let the boys stay in their pajamas at the B&B while they head out to the diner to pick up the breakfast they called in. Regina is actually excited for it - she hasn’t had anything close to Granny’s apple pancakes since she’s left Storybrooke, and she misses the boring normality of her morning routine. She doesn’t have any “nice” clothes anymore, and though she could conjure some she doesn’t bother with it - not yet. She will - she’ll make herself a whole new wardrobe of designer things when she’s officially the mayor again, but this morning she’s more or less still just a citizen (Merry Men aside), she can pretend to be somewhat normal, and she decides she’s going to cling to that for as long as possible. So, Regina ties her hair back in a high ponytail and zips one of Robin’s dark green hoodies up over her long sleeve shirt, tugs her worn boots on over black leggings, and doesn’t bother with any makeup other than lip gloss before she takes her Outlaw’s hand and lets him lead her out the door.

It’s a cool morning but sunny - promising to be a nice day out - and she’s looking forward to getting her feet under her. She has a lot on her to-do list, including heading over to City Hall to start working out this mess Snow has made, meeting with Henry’s teachers to figure out a plan to get him back on track, and finding a permanent place to live - all of which seem equally daunting.

They pick up breakfast, and Robin holds the door open for her as they exit the diner. She loves this about him, loves how he’s always such a gentleman, how he _always_ treats her like a lady, and Regina pauses as she passes him to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek - she’s not typically into public displays of affection, but what’s _one_ indulgence? He certainly deserves it for his chivalry, for his kindness, for the goodness he brings into her life each day.

Regina feels Robin’s cheek curve into a surprised smile beneath her lips, his breath stutters, and his sweet reaction makes her consider giving him a second, more _daring _kiss. She’s just about to, she’s leaning back in with the intention of catching the corner of his lips with hers, she’s bringing her hand up to cup his jaw, and _that’s_ when she hears it.

Or rather, she hears _her_.

“So he tries to make a break for it - he runs across the street and jumps in his car, turns the engine, steps on the gas, and bam! nothing happens - ‘cause I put a boot on the son of a bitch’s car before I went into the restaurant. He wasn’t going anywhere!”

The sound of Emma Swan’s voice causes Regina to freeze in place, makes the edges of her vision hazy and her fingers curl where they are currently pressed against the side of Robin’s face. She hears him mutter, “Oh, fuck,” under his breath before she shoves herself away from him, rage and contempt welling up inside of her and overflowing the second her eyes land on the blonde standing under the trellis that leads up to Granny’s Diner.

Regina immediately abandons the bags of food with Robin and starts toward her with long, purposeful strides. Emma is bracketed by David and Snow, who Regina is certain will try to stop her once they see her coming, but there is no stopping her - her hands are balled up, teeth clenched, eyes zeroed in - Emma Swan has it coming, and Regina is about to give it to her.

A drum beat of betrayal taps out against the pavement with each determined stomp of her boots as Regina draws closer and closer to the small group, a nocturne of the castigation Emma is about to receive already on the tip of her tongue. The Queen has held thousands of confrontations in her long life, but she cannot think of one as well deserved as this one. No one messes with her son and gets away with it - not even the precious Savior. _No one._

The un-Charmings finally see her coming when she’s about three steps away. David tries to step in front of Emma in an ill-advised attempt to protect her - as if he could stop Regina - but the blonde pushes him out of the way before Regina needs to, arrogantly stating, “It’s okay, Dad, I got this. She doesn’t scare me.”

Regina’s lips curve into a snarl. Silly little Swan - she has _no idea _who she’s dealing with.

This isn’t the Mayor, or the Bandit. This isn’t the heartbroken woman who had lost her true loves - _all of them_ \- thanks to the three people standing in front of her. This isn’t even the formidable, murderous, notorious Evil Queen. Those women are certainly still a part of her, but that’s not who is standing in front of Emma Swan right now.

This version of Regina is _very_ different than those others. Because this woman has two boys that are still in bed, wearing their pajamas with mussed hair, watching Saturday morning cartoons and waiting for her to bring them breakfast. This woman is _much_ more dangerous than all of those other women put together, and she has but one name.

_Mom._

And. She. Is. Pissed.

Regina doesn’t care that she’s physically smaller than Emma. She doesn’t care that Emma carries a gun, or that her over-protective father is standing next to her, or that her mother is around here somewhere too, just as likely to jump in and rescue her. Regina doesn’t care that the other woman also has magic, or a temper that nearly matches her own - she doesn’t care about anything, really, except that Emma betrayed the one expectation Regina ever had of her. Emma did the one thing she had never thought she’d do, the one thing she was certain the Savior couldn’t possibly be capable of.

When the going got tough, Emma abandoned Henry. _Again._

For the second time in his life, when Henry needed his birth mother most, she balked at the responsibility. She turned her back. She gave him away.

But not before Regina was completely humiliated, not before her heart was shredded into a thousand ragged pieces, not before she completely fell from grace, ensuring that Henry would see her at her utter worst before she was forcefully stripped of her rights as his mother. Rights that she fought tooth and nail to hang onto for _years_, rights that hurt so badly to give up that she nearly died from her grief. Emma put Regina _and_ Henry through hell, just to prove a point, just to one-up her, all so she could turn right around and give him away. _Again_. As if he is _disposable._

Regina has had enough.

She’s going to do more than tell her off - Regina’s going to tear her a new one, and she’s just opening her mouth to start, when Emma cuts off.

“Regina, just listen for a minute before you start screaming at me,” she says hotly, arrogance thick in her tone.

And that’s all the Queen can handle. She will not stand here and be placated by some smug, son-stealing bitch in a two-dollar pleather jacket. Uh-uh. Not today.

So she punches her.

Right in her stupid mouth.

Emma’s head snaps back with the impact, but to her credit, the blonde doesn’t tip over. Instead, she rights herself then freezes up for a moment, her eyes wide, obviously stunned that Regina has hit her, not to mention split her lip clean open with the force of the jab that came out of nowhere.

David starts yelling, and Regina catches movement in her periphery. She knows he’s coming at her, but she’s lost her temper so she reacts on instinct, emitting an intense wave of purple energy with her right hand that flings him off to the side, upending picnic tables and umbrellas as his big body barrels into them. In the same fluid motion, Regina shifts her weight, pulls back and throws a left hook so hard that when it connects with Emma’s cheek, she successfully knocks the other woman down on her _self-serving Savior_-ass.

And god, that’s satisfying.

She’s not done though - Regina’s about to pummel her right into the pavement. She’s one second from pouncing on top of her, from pounding her into minced-meat when suddenly two strong arms wrap around her waist, and she’s being pulled backward. Regina’s feet come right up off the ground, swinging wildly in the air as she fights against the momentum, her hands shoving roughly to try and free herself from the thick arms - Robin’s, she’s certain - that are holding her back.

Emma gets to her feet just as Regina nearly breaks free, and the blonde is coming toward her like she’s ready for another dose of ass-kicking, but just when Regina’s about to use magic to make Robin to let go of her, the strangest thing happens.

Snow appears next to Emma, grabs a tight hold on her wrist, and yanks her back, away from Regina. Emma struggles, but Snow’s grip is firm, and Emma barks out, “Let go of me! I can take her!” in protest.

Snow gives Emma’s arm another pull in the opposite direction of Regina, then snaps right back, “There isn’t a realm in this universe where you have earned the right to hit Regina back - not after the things you’ve done - and I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and watch you cause her another ounce of pain.”

“Are you kidding me? Whose side are you on?!” David exclaims from where he’s half buried under the picnic tables.

“Shut up, David,” Snow snaps, standing up straighter, “This isn’t about taking sides, it’s about doing what’s right - it’s about doing what I should have done a long time ago.”

Everyone within earshot goes silent, stunned by her bold stance, and Regina stops fighting against Robin’s hold on her, even though her temper is raging. She still wants to kick Emma’s ass, and if Snow wasn’t choosing this second to grow a spine, she’d be doing just that.

“What in the _hell_ is going on out here?!”

Regina fights the urge to groan in frustration as Granny’s sharp voice slices through the silence like a hot knife through butter. David starts making a ruckus, trying to right himself from the pile of debris he’s laying in, only managing to knock over more in the process.

“I asked a question!” Granny barks, irritated. “Snow?” she prompts, and when the Princess says nothing, she turns her attention to the Queen. “Regina?”

Regina bites her tongue as well, too annoyed to trust herself not to snap at the old woman.

Emma takes that as her cue to speak up, however, and gripes, “As usual, Regina flew off the handle before -”

“I don’t recall asking you, Ms. Swan” Granny cuts her off, stomping down the diner steps right past Robin and Regina and up into Emma’s space, her finger waving in the blonde’s face. “So hold your fat tongue until I’ve asked you to use it, otherwise, you might find it on the menu, got it?”

Emma huffs but shuts up, and Granny puts her hands on her hips, turning slowly and giving them all a very annoyed look as she assesses the situation.

“Regina, my office,” Granny jerks her head toward the diner.

The Queen grinds her teeth and stands her ground. She’ll not be ordered around by some old lady.

Robin rubs her shoulders comfortingly, then kisses the back of her head. His touch has the effect that she lets her guard down _just_ enough that when Granny repeats her command, Regina throws her hands up and storms into the diner without another word. If the old lady wants to take her on too, who is she to argue?

Granny is hot on her heels, forcefully closing the door to the little room and laying into her almost immediately once they are alone.

“What in god’s name were you thinking?” Granny yells, “Hitting Emma Swan? Throwing David halfway across the lawn? You really think that’s going to make things right? You think that’s going to make you feel better?”

“Yes!” Regina hisses, temper quickly reigniting as she starts pacing around the small space. “She was supposed to protect Henry! She was supposed to take care of him!”

Her voice rises as she starts to rant, shoving her sleeves up as she runs her hands over her hair, roughly smoothing the loose strands around her face back toward her ponytail. “She had one job - _one_. She was supposed to be his mother, she was supposed to be there for him, she was supposed to be what I couldn’t be, what I wasn’t capable of being, and instead, she _abandoned him. _She forced me out of his life_-”_ Regina loses control, her beautiful face contorting with rage as she screams, “-AND THEN SHE GAVE HIM TO SNOW WHITE AND THAT FUCKING SHEPHERD!”

Her chest is heaving, face flushed, hands curled into claws and shaking in front of her.

“So yes - YES! Punching her in the face is a damn good start to making things right!” She’s panting, her voice a creepy growl as she finishes, “I already feel better.” Regina straightens her back, ignores the sweat that has beaded on her brow, and tips her chin up arrogantly.

Take that, mutt.

Granny’s voice is quiet, _too quiet_ as she asks, “My god, girl, what did you do?” She pulls her glasses off and wipes them on her apron, rubs her eyes until they’re red, blinks wearily a few times, then slides them back on.

“What?” Regina snaps, confused.

“Don’t you dare play dumb with me, Regina Mills,” Granny frowns, her forehead pinched in anger. “You know very well that mutilating yourself wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested an alternative to suicide.”

Regina’s eyes widen with realization, and she yanks her sleeves back down to her wrists, as if she can hide the marks that Granny has already seen.

Shit.

“How are you going to explain that to Henry?” Granny asks. “Have you even considered how that’s going to affect him?”

“How is that any of your business?” Regina fires back.

“I’ve been in that boy’s life just as long as you have,” Granny stubbornly reasons. “I care about what happens to him, and knowing how he was manipulated by that green woman, how he was set up to hurt you, well, I’d really hate to see what he might go through if he starts to think he caused you to do _that_.”

The old dog scores a point that Regina cannot argue with, and her temper deflates.

“I… don’t know what to tell him about it,” she confesses, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “The truth, I suppose.”

“Wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

Granny shakes her head. “I said, you’re wrong,” she shrugs. “You can’t tell him the truth about _that_. You’ll break his poor heart.”

“I’m not going to lie to him,” Regina argues.

“So don’t. But children don’t need to know all the gory details about the mistakes their parents make. Something like this will only serve to hurt him. You made the choice to do this stupidity to yourself, now you need to find a way to fix it so it doesn’t hurt anyone else. I assume Robin knows?”

Regina nods.

“And me. What about Snow?”

“No, just the three of us.”

“Well thank god for that, at least. We all know that girl can’t keep a secret,” Granny smirks, and Regina raises an eyebrow, surprising herself when one corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile.

“Oh, and my therapist in New York.” Regina doesn’t know why she felt the need to tell Granny that last part, or at least, she doesn’t quite understand why she feels so nervous while she waits for the old lady’s reaction.

“Therapist?” Granny repeats, tipping her head to the side thoughtfully before she nods. “Good.”

A little swell of pride runs through Regina that she refuses to acknowledge, so she changes the subject and asks, “What did you mean about Henry being manipulated by Zelena?”

Granny sighs and suddenly looks very tired. “Turns out that witch was whispering in his ear, feeding him lies about you and your thief, trying to convince Henry that if Marian and Robin weren’t together, all of our happy endings would be put at risk. Turns out she’s the one who gave him the idea that you were evil - she’s the one who started the entire thing.”

Regina closes her eyes as her stomach plummets with Granny’s explanation. Her entire relationship with her son shifts - the events of those last few months with Henry before she left, and his unreasonable accusations of betrayal and anger, along with his complete unwillingness to listen to her finally take on meaning. If she and Robin couldn’t see through the web of lies Zelena cast over them, there is no way any of them could expect a fifteen-year-old boy to. _Especially_ one who was already battling teenage angst and experiencing the jealousy of having to share time with his mother for the first time ever. He’s as much of a victim in this as she and Robin are.

Regina vows that if she ever gets her hands on that sister of hers, she’s going to kill her.

But first, she has to figure out something to do about these brands, because Granny is right. She saw the way they hurt Robin, and she doesn’t want them to hurt others. The marks were meant for her, and her alone - Regina never thought she’d be close to anyone ever again, so when she’d made the decision to press the hot iron to her arm, what someone else might think simply hadn’t mattered. But now that she has her family back, she has to figure out a way to live with her decisions without erasing them. She could heal the scars with her magic, but she really doesn’t want to give up the brands, she doesn’t want the reminders to go away - she needs them, needs to see what she almost lost and why. She may have to get creative, but she’ll find a way to do it, she knows she can.

There’s more than one good reason they call her a witch.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

** _ Storybrooke, October 3rd, 2016 _ **

Over the next week, Robin and Regina do their best to get the boys settled. It’s close quarters at the B&B, but they’re honestly too busy to notice. Robin attempts to enroll Roland in kindergarten, but it backfires immediately. The first day at school, his son begins to cry uncontrollably the second he realizes his father is going to leave him in the hands of strangers, and no matter how much Robin promises that he’ll be back to get him as soon as the day is done, Roland’s fear only escalates until he’s completely hysterical, screaming his poor head off to the point that Robin takes him home. The next day, Robin reluctantly asks Regina to help, and though she is able to convince the boy that she will indeed return for him, covering his little face in sweet kisses and stroking his small back as she holds him tightly against her chest, he still cries and begs her not to leave him, his little shaking hands wrapped in her thick black hair and his wide brown eyes so sincere and pathetic that when Robin and Regina finally exit the school, she literally collapses in his arms with the emotional strain of what they’ve just done. The third day is less difficult, but only marginally so.

Henry’s return to school is much less dramatic, though no less stressful. After Regina meets with his teachers, school counselor, and begrudgingly, Snow White, she develops a schedule for him that is so strict, Robin almost feels sorry for the boy - he’d seriously have more freedom if he was put on house arrest. Henry takes it in stride though, which surprises him - if Robin had been put under such strict marching orders at Henry’s age he’s certain he’d have done everything he could to shirk them, but what Regina’s doing seems to be working, so Robin does what he can to help.

Each morning, Regina wakes up early with Henry and heads down to the diner for an hour of math tutoring during breakfast, and after school, once Henry’s done with whatever ‘Regina-approved’ extracurriculars he’s allowed, Robin collects him and escorts him to the Merry Men’s camp for what he’s told her are simply “chores” but what in reality are a secret project that is _much_ more complex. After two hours of work at the camp, Henry and Robin return to the diner for dinner with Regina and Roland, then Regina helps Henry with the rest of his homework - chemistry, biology, English literature - whatever the boy is struggling with that day. Apparently there’s nothing too complex for Regina to help him with, she’s bloody brilliant, and just over the course of a week, Robin can already see a positive change in Henry’s demeanor.

Robin’s not naive enough to take much credit for Henry’s improvement, but he’s hoping that he’s helping a little. Back in New York, Robin had an idea - an idea that he’d wanted to ask Regina about but just hadn’t been able to carve out the time for. Things had moved so fast once they’d returned that when Regina asked him if he’d be willing to involve Henry around camp, he’d just gone with his gut and taken that as permission to do what he’d originally intended to ask her - he’s using the opportunity to induct Henry into his band of Merry Men.

He thinks it’ll be good for him - that it’ll help the boy feel like he belongs, like he’s part of something bigger, that he doesn’t need magic to have an impact. Robin himself struggles with feeling inadequate surrounded by so many magic wielders in Storybrooke. He knows how hard it is to watch everyone around him throw fire, heal wounds, teleport, cast curses, and brew potions all with ease while he stands in the background with nothing but a pure heart and his enchanted bow. The thing is, Robin has never felt inadequate when he and his men are slipping silently through Sherwood Forest in the dead of night, bows and daggers drawn, picking the overflowing pockets of Prince John’s unsuspecting guardsmen, or breaking into the Sheriff of Nottingham’s prison to free innocents who’ve been tortured for days, simply for not being able to pay obscene increases in taxes. When Robin is a part of the Merry Men, he feels like he belongs, he feels powerful, capable, and he wants to share that with Henry.

The first day at camp, Robin spoke with Henry about all this, sat him down and asked him if he was interested in such a thing, if he wanted to be a part of the band. It had taken the boy a few minutes, he’d sat quietly, his knees bouncing nervously and his head bowed as he thought it over, but then Much the Miller’s son had unexpectedly stopped over and chatted with him, and after a few minutes Henry had returned to Robin and agreed.

But the thing is, Robin can’t just _make him_ one of the gang. Henry’s got to prove himself first. He’s got to show that he can work as part of a team, that he can be depended on, that he’s trustworthy, loyal, and willing to pull his weight. Which is how the two of them came up with their special project, or what Henry has named, Operation Twenty-Three.

In general, the mission is simple. Since the Mills family doesn’t have a permanent place to call home, Robin and Henry are going to build them one.

The details, however, are quite complicated. They all know that Regina quite purposely burned her house down, and when Robin broached the subject with her, she was hesitant and defensive about rebuilding. She confided in him that, while she has some good memories there, she also has a lot of bad memories in that house. Regina told him that she doesn’t relish the thought of magically restoring it from the ashes - that it feels like cheapening what they all went through, like she’s trying to cover it up and return things to how they were before. She had made it very clear that she doesn’t _want_ to return to how things were before, that she _can’t_ go back to how things were before and even if she could, she’s not sure she would.

Robin’s not sure how he feels about all that - he’s actually fairly certain that if he could turn back the hands of time and avoid this mess entirely that he would - but that’s of little value so he hasn’t brought it up. Instead, he and Henry have set to work, scouring every inch of Storybrooke for the exact right piece of property upon which to build Regina’s dream home. They’ve looked everywhere - along the coast, in town, out in the country, in the forest, and after a week of searching, of checking every single viable option, he thinks that they have finally found just the right place.

As he and Henry make their way down their list of “must haves” and “wants”, Robin can’t find a single thing wrong with the property to deter him from buying it. The main road leading up to the house is paved, so Regina’s car will be safe from gravel and mud. It’s not too far from town, but is set deeply enough into the woods that they still have the privacy the Mayoral Mansion offered her before it burned down. Otherwise, it’s a blank slate, and he’ll give her anything she wants in the house - a white picket fence, a garage, anything her heart desires - he’ll make it come true. It’s what she deserves after all this time away, a home to call her own, to raise her son in - to feel safe in. He and Henry decide together that the lot is perfect, and when he gets the final thumbs up from his newest Merry Man in training, Robin goes straight to the bank and buys it.

He knows it’s a bold move, but he doesn’t realize quite how nervous he is about telling Regina what he’s done until he’s already signed the papers and is holding the deed to the property in his hand - the deed he had filled out in _her _name, even though he’d traded every valuable treasure he owned to pay for it. He wants the property to belong to her, and he doesn’t want there to be any confusion over it. He doesn’t want her to think she owes him or _has _to share it with him if she doesn’t want to, even though he desperately hopes that she does.

All in all, Robin just wants to take care of Regina - he wants her to have the best of everything, wants her to live a life of comfort and luxury and never want for anything. He’ll do whatever it takes to give her that, even if it means turning out his pockets, even if it means he has to sleep on the forest floor for the rest of his life. As long as Roland, Regina, and Henry are taken care of, he can live and die a happy man, and he knows that the house he and his men are going to build her here is the first step toward that future.

“So, do you think you can draw up a few plans, mate?” Robin asks, unrolling the large rolls of paper he purchased and setting the rest of the grocery bags down in front of Henry.

Henry’s eyes grow wide. “You want _me _to draw them?” he asks. “I’ve never done that before,” he sounds incredibly nervous.

Robin grins and pats his shoulder. “I know,” he nods, “But you know what rooms we need, yeah? And what your mum liked about your old house and what she didn’t, right?”

Henry nods thoughtfully.

“How about we make a list of those things,” Robin suggests, “Then you can try a few plans and see how it all fits together. I think I’ve got what you need to get started here,” he motions toward the bag. “Have a look.”

Henry starts pulling items out of the bag and Robin watches as the boy’s expression changes from apprehensive to excited. There are colored pencils, markers, rulers, protractors, stencils, grid paper, and a variety of other tools to make it easier for Henry to create the blueprints for the new house.

“This is great!” the boy says, lining up all the tools in front of him.

Robin waves Alan over, and they watch with amusement as Henry starts writing out his list of the rooms the house needs - Den, Kitchen, Mom’s office, Mom’s bedroom, Mom’s bathroom, Henry’s bedroom, Roland’s bedroom…

Robin’s heart nearly stops when he realizes that Henry is already planning the new house with Roland in mind, as if he just assumes he will live there, as if he considers the younger boy to be his little brother, in spite of everything they have all been through. Robin feels his eyes burn, then Alan’s hand on his shoulder squeezing roughly, and he has to sniff and rub his eyes to cover his emotional reaction to the simple thoughtfulness of Henry’s actions.

“Hey, uh, if you need a hand,” Robin croaks, clears his throat and tries again, “Alan here usually draws up the plans, so he can help you if you have any questions, alright?” he offers.

Alan steps in to help Henry with his list and to get him started with the blueprints while Robin watches excitedly, offering his opinions and ideas as they go. In a few days, the plans are set, everything is starting to fall into place, and all Robin has to do now is figure out a way to tell Regina that he and Henry are about to build her a brand new house.

_Christ_, he hopes she likes it.

* * *

** _ Storybrooke, October 6th, 2016 _ **

“Shh,” Regina whispers, her finger pressed to Robin’s lips to keep him quiet as he slowly wakes in the dark room. “The boys won't be up for a while yet,” she informs him, still whispering, then gives him a suggestive smirk and raise of her eyebrows while she reaches for his hand, tugs lightly and takes a step backward. “C’mon.”

When the reality of what she’s suggesting sinks in, Robin is up and out of his bed in the next heartbeat, his hands finding her hips, his lips pressing warm, open-mouth kisses down the length of her neck as she backpedals toward the bathroom.

Somehow, they make it through the door without bumping into anything, and Robin reluctantly detaches himself from her so he can turn to silently close and lock the door behind them. He gets that done, but her hands are distracting, running across his shoulders, down the planes of his back and further still to squeeze his rear, and he almost moans when she steps into him and presses her front flush against him, because - _christ_ \- she’s already got her top off.

She starts nipping across his shoulders then, her hands coming around his broad chest to stroke over his skin, nails lightly scratching in little random patterns while she rubs her breasts against his bare back, and Robin shivers under her touch. They haven’t even bothered to turn on the lights yet, he hasn’t had a chance, but god, he really wants to look at her - they haven’t been able to do anything intimate since before they left New York and if this is going to be their opportunity, he really doesn’t fancy being robbed of the right to see her.

He turns and attempts to hit the light switch but before he can, Regina takes a firm grip on his hand and pulls it toward her, pressing it over her breast and arching her back sharply. Her nipple is hard against his palm and Robin’s breath stutters at how warm she is, practically writhing beneath his touch, her breaths short, her other hand shaky as she slides it up his chest to the back of his neck. She pulls his head down so they can share a heated kiss - their mouths open, tongues sliding, flicking and teasing while Robin buries his free hand in her thick hair to keep their lips locked together.

In spite of the cloak and dagger of the situation, it still feels wonderful - wonderful and _surreal_ \- to be able to touch her like this. It’s the first time since Robin has regained his memories that they’ve done anything more than share a kiss, and he has this strange sense of deja vu, like he’s just awakened from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, and he’s suddenly got his life back. He certainly learned his lesson over the ten months he was forced to live without Regina though, and now that they’re back together, he intends to take full advantage of the _second_ second chance he’s been given.

Robin plays with her breast, squeezing and bouncing it before focusing in on her sensitive tip, taking it between his thumb and forefinger to give it a hard tug before he starts rolling it over and over. He remembers now how sensitive she is here, how much she loves this - how close he can bring her to orgasm just by working up her hot little nipples into red, aching centers of pleasure that make her twitch and gasp and beg him to please, _please_ give her more. Robin vividly recalls that if he teases her long enough here, he can literally make Regina drip with need. In fact, he can get her so worked up just from this, that when he _finally _gives her the release she craves - when he fucks her hard, and rough, and deep after this, she can soak the sheets with how hard she comes - sometimes more than once - and oh, how he is looking forward to doing that again.

He drops his hand from her neck and slides it down her stomach, flattening his palm to stroke over her smooth skin before he slips his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers and pajama pants, longing to touch her, to bring her pleasure like he used to. When his fingers dip low enough to stroke along her slick folds her breath rushes out in a hot puff against his chin, and she whispers, “Please,” and then, “Oh, god,” when he presses the pad of his finger to her clit and starts to rub.

“Christ, darling,” he murmurs in her ear, “did you wake up randy or have you been lying in bed, thinking about this?”

Regina huffs out another hot breath against his mouth and kisses him, pulls on his bottom lip with her teeth as his middle finger circles her entrance and whispers, “Woke up and couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Hadda have you.”

Robin _loves_ when she’s like this - when she’s all worked up and slurring her words together, her usually perfect diction a victim of the lust-inducing hormones rushing through her overheated body. He’s gotten her to do some seriously kinky things when she’s like this, (and she’s _suggested _some seriously kinky things when she’s like this), so it’s no surprise when she whines breathlessly, “I, I needa come - please – ri-now - can’t wait.”

Robin nods his agreement but isn’t sure if she can see him - they still haven’t turned on the blasted lights. He dips down and pulls off her pants and knickers, then skates his hands back up her inner thighs and takes advantage of the upward movement to roughly thrust two fingers into her. Regina moans _loudly_ in response - and they both freeze.

Shit.

They _have_ to be quiet, and they both know it.

“Shit, sorry,” he whispers, but doesn’t pull his fingers out. Instead he reaches past her with his other hand and flicks on the switch for the cosmetic mirror on the vanity, giving them enough light to at least see each other and most of the small room.

Robin starts to work his fingers carefully in her, and she makes another small whimper, then props her foot up on the tub ledge to give him more room. He notices she’s biting on her bottom lip in an apparent attempt to keep quiet, but when he curls his fingers and gets a bit deeper inside of her, she fails to stop the little noises from coming out of her throat for a third time, and he knows they can’t keep going if she can’t keep it down.

“You’ve got to be silent, love,” he whispers, kissing along her jawline and working his fingers slowly. “The boys will hear you if you keep making a racket.”

Regina is panting, her thick, wavy hair falling over her shoulders and into her eyes, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the other clutching tightly to his bicep as if she might fall down if she lets go. “I… I… knowww,” she tries, nods, and squeezes her eyes shut.

God, she’s so pretty.

Robin smirks and thumps his fingers inside of her, rubbing his thumb over her clit in quick little swipes, testing her. She keens quietly in response, rocking her hips against his hand as her wetness seeps down to coat his fingers further - _god_ \- she’s soaking wet, so hot and tight; he actually feels sorry for her, can’t imagine how turned on she is right now to be unable to keep quiet. Regina _rarely_ loses control like this. He tries to think of what he can do to help her - stopping is _not_ an option, there’s no way he’s not getting her off when she’s this hot for him. He supposes he can make up something to tell the boys if he has to - _Mummy and Daddy were wrestling_ has a nice ring to it - although Henry will never buy it, and Robin would like to spare Regina from the embarrassment if he can.

“Hold on a moment,” he rasps, gently pulling his fingers from her amidst her harshly whispered protests of _no-no-no-waiiiiiit_.

Robin moves to the sink and turns on the faucet, then reaches around behind her and turns the shower on as well, hoping that the noise of the running water will muffle her enough that the boys won’t be able to hear her through the door. He returns to her and can’t resist sucking on his fingers before he grabs a towel and throws it down on the floor in front of her, then drops to his knees and pushes her legs further apart, making sure to keep her foot propped up on the tub.

“Oh god,” she whines quietly as Robin runs his hands up her calves.

“Quiet,” he reminds turning his head to suck kisses along her inner thigh, using his teeth to scrape and nip lightly. “Not another peep out of you, or we stop, got it?”

Regina doesn’t reply, just leans back against the vanity and threads her fingers through his hair.

Robin bites her thigh sharply and she jerks away, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“Not,” Robin slips his fingers back inside of her and she gasps. “Another,” he gives her several quick thrusts, “peep.” He freezes and looks up expectantly, waits for her to nod, then he unleashes.

He works his fingers vigorously, changing the angle of his wrist until he finds that spot she needs, knowing he’s got it after several strokes when her hips jolt forward and she tightens around him. A rush of fluid runs from her and down the back of his hand when he hits her deep and starts up a smooth, corkscrewing motion, her thighs shaking as he repeatedly drives into her. He lays his other hand flat against her stomach and presses his thumb to her clit, massaging quickly over the hard, swollen bud, gliding easily through the slickness she’s created for him, switching once in a while to duck his head and suck it between his lips, needing a taste of her, needing to feel her smooth, salty skin against his tongue. Her fingers tangle in the short strands of his hair, clutching desperately, her nails scratching along his scalp while her other hand clings to the vanity countertop for support, desperate little whines and gasps getting caught in her chest and huffed out with each hard pull of his lips and each rub of his skillful fingers.

Robin concentrates hard as he pushes her closer and closer to her climax. He can’t help but stare at her – she’s always gorgeous but in the throes of passion she’s even more stunning. The way her flushed chest heaves, nipples perked, the muscles in her neck straining, her pretty lips parted and swollen - _christ_. She’s a vision that would put the gods to shame. Her body gets so hot beneath his hands, so hot and _so _wet - she lets her guard completely down and he bloody loves it - loves how she always pulls him closer and asks him for, “More, Robin, _more_.” _God_. She smells and tastes and feels amazing, everything about her is delicious, he can’t get enough, can’t stop from leaning into her to suck kisses on top of her hip bone, all along her bikini line, the underside of her breasts - his mouth is jealous of the work his hands are doing and he covers whatever he can reach with his lips and tongue.

He feels the flutter of her inner muscles, knows she’s close and bears down on her, fighting the roll and jerk of her hips, trying hard not to lose his positioning as she bucks her hips and starts to spasm around his fingers. He’s impressed that she manages to stay quiet, only a few high-pitched gasps escape as she grinds down and floods him with wetness. Robin tries to help by gentling his fingers, slipping them out and holding them against her instead of pushing her past her limits, letting her come down softly instead of trying to overstimulate her into a quivering mess. It’s admittedly not his usual style, but he doesn’t trust her to keep quiet and he’d rather not risk waking the kids.

Apparently, Regina has other ideas.

He’s not ready for it – for her – he expects her to revel in her afterglow for a moment but instead, she puts her hands on his shoulders and starts to push, tipping him onto his back. He’s grateful for the plush bathroom rug beneath him, but he has little time to think about it, because in the next second, she’s climbing on top of him, leaning forward to slip her tongue into his mouth as she rubs herself against him.

_Christ_.

Robin throws his head back with how good it feels, and Regina starts sucking kisses down his throat, her fingers stroking sweetly along the side of his face. He loves when she touches him like this, with love, reverence, and a hint of desperation. He takes her hand with his own, brings her palm to his lips and kisses it.

Her hair tickles against his neck, and he starts to look down but gets distracted. In the dim light of the bathroom, the shadows catch the rough skin of the brands below the hand that he’s holding, and the 11/5/2015 looks positively _gruesome_ on her small wrist. Robin cringes, then fights a wave of nausea as he stares at it. He morbidly wonders what she used to do it – it looks different than the other numbers, it’s crude and ugly, deeply scarred and rough at the edges, misaligned as if it took her multiple tries. He thinks of her recalling their time making love in her vault, thinks of her screaming in pain as she presses the red-hot metal to her skin as punishment for it over and over and over –

Regina pulls her hand away and uses it to tip his head to the side, sliding her body sensuously against his as she whispers, “You feel so good, want you so bad.” She pulls at his earlobe with her teeth then starts to shift down his body, dragging her nails lightly across his chest as she scoots back, and he tries to put her brands out of his mind. He closes his eyes and attempts to focus on the way her lips and tongue move against him, on the hot little noises she makes, on the way her warm hands massage over him. She swirls her thumbs over his hip bones, slips her fingers under the waistband of his pajama pants and underwear and tugs them down, and he lifts his hips to help her, excitement growing in his belly as she drops kisses along the lines of his obliques.

But no matter how hard he tries to focus on what she’s doing, on how good her lips, tongue, and fingers feel, all he can think about are those bloody numbers - 11/5/2015. Even when he closes his eyes it’s as if they are tattooed on the insides of his eyelids. He thinks about the other marks he's seen on her - bruises, scrapes, her split lip, and he wonders how many times she let herself be attacked. He wonders how many horrors she purposely allowed to befall her, wonders how many atrocities she's keeping secret from him.

“Um,” Regina’s voice is quiet, her hands smooth softly along his stomach and up his ribs. “Robin, is everything okay?” she whispers.

11/5/2015.

Robin nods and gives her a small smile, reaching down to brush her hair out of her eyes.

11/5/2015.

She frowns, kisses his sternum and works her way up his chest until she’s back at eye level.

11/5/2015.

She leans down slowly and kisses him, her eyes narrowed as if she’s trying to read him, but he’s not sure why she’s hesitating so he wraps his arms around her and comfortingly runs them up and down her back.

They kiss deeply, heatedly, and Regina starts to roll her body against him again, obviously into it. He reaches between them and strokes his fingers between her thighs, rubbing through her slickness, wondering what she’s waiting for, why she doesn’t just go for it. They don’t use birth control – Regina can’t have children so that’s never been an issue. She swivels her hips, presses down against him and makes a noise in her throat that he doesn’t recognize, though he can feel her wetness against him.

Suddenly, she sits up a little, bracing on her forearms, her face full of concern as she looks deeply into his eyes and asks, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Robin shakes his head in confusion. “Nothing – what’re you talking about?”

Regina tips her head to the side, her eyebrows raising as she scoots back on his thighs, runs her hands down, and slowly, carefully strokes his length.

And… _fuck._

11/5/2015.

He’s… not hard.

11/5/2015.

Robin huffs out a frustrated breath. Well, that’s never happened. Not sober anyway. And _never_ with _her_.

Oh god.

_Fuck_.

Robin raises his hands and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He tries really, _really _hard to think only of Regina, of sexy things that might somehow miraculously make him rigid, but all he can think about are those bloody numbers on her arm.

11/5/2015. 11/5/2015. 11/5/2015.

Oh no.

When he reopens his eyes, Regina’s biting her lip worriedly, her hair tucked behind her ears, staring down at him and waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I uh,” he swallows thickly, lies, “it’s early - I’m just tired.”

She immediately sees through it, her face contorting in mixture of disbelief, hurt, and annoyance.

“Do you want to try that explanation again? Or do you really want to want to continue this conversation as if I’m an idiot?”

He gets defensive, it’s not as if this is easy for him. It’s never happened to him before and it’s embarrassing as hell. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be with her, it’s not as if he isn’t turned on. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he grumbles.

He can’t stop thinking about her branding herself, all because of the last time they had sex. Which _he_ instigated, which _he_ is responsible for, because he was a needy, selfish git who practically begged her to sleep with him and then left her to deal with a giant mess all on her own. He can’t help but think that if he _hadn’t_ gone to the vault that night, if he hadn’t explicitly gone against her wishes to leave her alone, to forget about her, she wouldn’t have _any_ marks on her arm.

But he can’t tell her that. She’ll just argue and turn it around; she’ll say he didn’t have anything to do with it because she _still_ doesn’t recognize just how good she is inside.

Suddenly Robin can’t bear to look her in the eyes, so he bolts. He shifts her off of him, jerks his pants up and slips out of the bathroom, infinitely grateful that the boys are still asleep while he grabs a pair of jeans and a hoodie. By the time Regina emerges from the bathroom in her pajamas, he’s fully dressed, has his boots on and his phone in his pocket.

“You’re not an idiot,” he whispers shamefully as he walks to the door. “But I certainly am.”

“Did I do something wrong?” she whispers, “I’m sorry, I –”

“No, of course not,” he cuts her off and tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He feels like he’s suffocating in here. “I’m uh, going to go and get a coffee. I’ll be back before Roland is up,” he reassures her, not wanting her to have to worry about breaking her routine with Henry. Robin cups the back of her head and presses a kiss to Regina’s forehead, then heads out into the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head bowed, his shoulders slumped and back bent as he carries the weight of his embarrassment and the consequences of his actions out into the early morning light.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

** _ Storybrooke, October 8th, 2016 _ **

Saturday morning comes quickly - too quickly for Regina’s taste. Ever since she returned from New York, it’s as if her life has been moving at double, or even triple time, and it’s all she can do to keep up with it. She’s exhausted from helping everyone - Henry with his homework, Snow with City Hall, Robin with Roland, and she’s had no time to herself whatsoever. She’s had no time to think, no time to reflect and recharge, and she’s starting to fall back into bad habits, starting to feel cracks forming around the edges of her carefully reconstructed life.

She and Robin haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened between them in the bathroom yet, and it’s starting to take its toll on her. At first she thought she’d done something, or perhaps she’d said something to ruin the mood, but once he’d returned from his fake coffee run, she’d figured out pretty quickly what the problem was.

It’s these damned brands.

Regina always wears long sleeves - the boys don’t know what she’s done to her arm and she’s working out a plan to keep it that way. But ever since their incident in the bathroom, Robin can’t seem to stop staring at her left forearm, regardless of it being covered up, as if he can see her scars right through the fabric. So she assumes the issue has something to do with the brands, or at the very least, with the guilt he has awarded himself on their behalf. She had hoped that she had convinced him in New York that he wasn’t to blame for any of this, that her speech in the alley had been enough to assuage him of his guilt, but apparently Robin hasn’t let it go, and now it’s starting to affect their relationship.

It’s difficult for her to approach him about this. She wants to, but it’s so awkward - she might live in the twenty-first century but she was brought up a lady by _Cora_, instilled with a strict set of manners, and talking with her boyfriend about how his guilty conscience is leading to problems in the bedroom is definitely not on her top ten list of things she enjoys talking about. She can tell that he’s ashamed of himself, obviously embarrassed, and now he’s avoiding any kind of contact with her that could be mistaken as less than innocent - turning his head at the last second when they kiss to connect with her cheek instead, even dropping his eyes and looking away when she tries to flirt with him. It’s not his fault, his heart has been torn to shreds from this entire situation, and she shouldn’t have expected him to just be okay, to be unaffected by all of the lies and secrets - god knows she isn’t. It’s just that it’s been two full days of this strangeness between them, and she can’t figure out how to fix it.

Last night had been particularly difficult.

Regina is shaken by what’s happening with Robin, fearful that he’s slipping through her fingers, that she’s finally managed to wear down his defenses and corrupt him. She worked herself up so much so that she couldn’t sleep, but she couldn’t think of anywhere else she wanted to be, either. So after lying awake for what felt like forever, she’d resorted to doing what she had done on so many other nights over the past several months.

She knew how weird she was being, how creepy, but she had been unable to stop herself from doing it anyway. Regina had slipped out of the bed she was sharing with Henry and Roland, tucked them both in tightly and pressed sweet kisses to their foreheads. Then she silently crept to the far end of the room, and wedged herself into the corner.

Then she just… watched them.

For hours.

She’s insane, probably, and she needs help. She knows this - she’d never argue that point. But as the minutes had passed, she slipped into an almost meditative state while she watched her loved ones, as she made sure that they were safe and well-cared for. Watching gave her a purpose. It made her feel useful, and like she had control. Above all else, though, it made the unpredictable, unrelenting darkness within her feel almost… tame.

Around four in the morning Robin had startled her by calling her name.

“Regina, darling,” he’d whispered.

She’d twitched against the wall and blinked several times, her eyes dry from having been open for too long while she watched her boys sleep. She had turned her head to see Robin, still prone in his bed, but with his eyes open and looking at her.

“Come to bed,” he’d raised his hand and motioned to her.

She had hesitated, unsure what he meant and completely unwilling to get it wrong. Robin had frowned and sat up, scratched the back of his neck and gotten out of bed, stretching his back before he slowly made his way over to her.

“You alright?” he’d asked, once he was barely a step away from where she was pressed into the corner.

Regina had simply squinted at him, then shrugged and looked back at the boys.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whispered, then he’d reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes, tugging lightly on the ends before he had stroked his fingers sweetly across her cheek. “Will you come to bed, to sleep, if I promise we'll talk about it today?”

“You don’t have to bargain with me,” she’d whispered back, annoyed that he was apologizing when he didn’t need to be. “I’m not trying to punish you.”

“I know,” he had surprised her when he agreed. “You’re trying to punish _you_.”

She snapped her eyes to his, then had almost cried with how he knew her better than she knew herself, for he had caught her in the act before she even realized what she was doing.

Robin took her hand in his then, pulled lightly, and she went to bed with him willingly. He tucked her in with him, her face buried against his broad chest, his arms wrapped tight around her, his warm breath against her the crown of her head, and she slept peacefully, deeply, if only for the few hours that were left of the night.

This morning Regina decides that she has to get away from it all, that the strain has finally become too much, and she can’t afford to start going backwards after finally having made some forward progress. So after dropping off Henry at the loft to spend the day with Snow, she heads to a location she is guaranteed to have privacy - her vault.

It’s the one place that was safe from her fire storm when she left Storybrooke. Most of the items within her vault don’t technically belong to her in the first place - they’re artifacts, relics, and heirlooms, or ingredients for potions, or grimoires that she borrowed and ‘forgot’ to return. Before she left town, Regina had made sure that nothing within her vault would be useful in tracking her down, and when she’d gone she’d simply locked it up - both with mechanical and magical means - then hadn’t given it a second thought. She appreciates that now more than she ever could have imagined, because it’s all that she has left, and really, it’s all she had that was useful anyway.

It’s nearly noon and she’s made significant progress on the mirror spell she’s developing to hide the brands on her arm. Her objective is to tweak the spell so that she can cast it to last indefinitely, continuously reflecting the skin of her right forearm onto the left, effectively hiding her brands from anyone who doesn’t already know that they’re there. A person would, of course, be able to feel the marred flesh if they were to touch it, but without being able to see the actual numbers, Regina is unconcerned about anyone deciphering what it says. Most people don’t touch her anyway - she may be beautiful, she may even be ‘redeemed’, but to most people she is still too close to the Evil Queen for them to want to get within fifteen feet of her.

“I thought I might find you here.”

She jerks her head up, surprised by the sound of Robin’s voice.

“I see you haven’t let your skills of infiltration get rusty,” she jokes. “Were you moonlighting as a cat burglar in New York?”

“If I were, I’m sure you’d know,” he says lightly, but then he cringes, as does she. It’s too soon, apparently, for them to kid around about that. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “That sounded better in my head.”

“No, don’t be,” Regina shakes her head and runs her fingers through her hair. “It’s true - I _would _know. We can… talk about that, we probably _should _talk about that. I think I can, at least a little.”

Robin nods and moves toward her as she bookmarks each of the three spell books in front of her and sets them carefully aside. He sits on the chaise beside her and they automatically scoot closer together, as if pulled by the opposite poles of a magnet, inching nearer and nearer until their knees are touching and they’re holding hands. She can smell his pine body wash, it mixes pleasantly with the other familiar scents of her vault - leather, old wood, marble - and she already feels better, just from that.

“Would you mind telling me how uh, how long you were… looking after us?” Robin asks carefully.

She appreciates how he tries to phrase his question in a way that won’t hurt her feelings. They both know that what she was doing has a much nastier word associated with it, they both know that her obsessive attention earned her every negative connotation related to it.

_Stalker_.

But somehow, Robin manages to make what she was doing sound almost… sweet.

Regina’s heart is pounding with the answer and she feels a prickle of anxiety cause the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She fights the urge to redirect his question, fights the temptation to give him a half-truth that will hurt him less than the real answer, because she promised herself that she’d be better, that she’d try harder for him. The only way to do that is to tell him the awful truth.

“Since April,” she quietly admits, wincing when Robin’s eyes widen with shock.

“Oh, darling,” he pulls her hands up to his lips and presses kisses to her knuckles, drawing her eyes up to his. “Oh, god, oh, _christ_.” He reaches for her with a trembling hand, clutching at her, drawing her close until she’s curled up with her legs across his lap. Robin curses quietly, wraps one arm protectively around her waist, the other around her shoulders, holding her against his chest while he presses kisses to the top of her head.

She thought he would be angry, but he’s definitely not. No, he’s extremely upset, but it’s with such a sadness that the only word Regina can think to describe it is _grief-stricken_. He’s rocking her a little and pressing kisses to her head, whispering almost frantically, “It’s okay, you’re alright, it’s all over now,” over and over in a way that she knows he’s talking to _her_, but he’s doing it in a way that she’s certain he’s trying to convince _himself _of it, much more than her.

“I’m sorry,” she tries to apologize, “I know that must be shocking. I tried to stay away, to stay out of sight. But then Roland started stealing and I -”

“That’s not why I’m upset,” he cuts in, “Oh god, love, that’s not - I just -” he breaks off, hugs her tightly and just goes silent for a few minutes with his forehead pressed to hers. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him, unsure what else she should say or do to try to help. It feels like everything she does just makes him feel worse than before.

After a little while, Robin takes a deep, steadying breath, his fingers flexing on her, and Regina tips her chin up and presses her lips to his. She uses the opportunity to stroke her fingers lightly along both sides of his face, letting her thumbs swirl over the roughness of his short stubble as their lips press together unhurriedly. It’s a slow, careful kiss, not intended to inspire but to comfort, and when she draws back, he seems more put together, so she gives him another, small, easy kiss, before she asks him to clarify why he’s so upset.

“Your brand,” he’s whispering, as if he can’t bear to say the words any louder, “The first one, November the fifth?”

Regina nods.

“That’s because we made love, right here, yeah?”

She almost says yes, but at the last second she catches herself.

“No,” she takes his hands firmly in hers. “It’s not because of that,” she corrects. “It’s because of what _I_ did.”

“But that’s just it,” he argues. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You told me not to come back, begged me to leave you alone. If I hadn’t come back here that night, we wouldn’t have slept together. Regina, you know that if I hadn’t come charging down here like a man on a mission, you’d have honored your values, and you wouldn’t have _any_ of these marks on your arm.” He runs his fingers over her ruined flesh and they both look down to watch as his fingers rise and fall over the grisly ridges.

“I’m a grown woman, Robin,” she reminds him. “If you’ll recall, I was a more than willing participant _all_ of the times we were together that night, and _both_ times the next morning,” she corrects, cheeks flushing pink with the memories.

“It doesn’t negate the fact that if I hadn’t come here you wouldn’t have that date burned into your arm. You wouldn’t have _any_ of those dates.”

She loves him for his concern, she does, but he’s being so stubborn about his guilt and she doesn’t know how to get through to him, so she sighs, cups his face, looks him in the eyes and says firmly, “And if you hadn’t come back here that night, we wouldn't be together. So why should we care about a few scars if it means we get to have each other now?”

Robin looks like he wants to argue, so she jumps in with the rest of her justification before he can.

“We can’t keep talking in hypotheticals.” She smooths her thumbs across his cheekbones, shaking her head back and forth with her conviction. “Robin, you’re the one who always says that we have to think about our future, not our past.”

“I know,” he huffs defeatedly, “It’s just that every time I close my eyes I see it, I see those numbers and I think about you torturing yourself, screaming in agony, holding that hot iron to your skin, all because of me.” He fights tears, his eyes filling with them and turning red around the edges as he cringes.

Regina’s heart breaks as she watches him - she feels totally helpless as he confesses his demons to her.

“And I can’t stop imagining the dreadful things that must have happened to you - the times you were attacked, the times you were were beaten, _or worse_, because you somehow thought you should be,” he pauses to swipe at his eyes, then continues, his voice rough and gravelly with emotion. “I keep wondering how many awful things you allowed to happen because of the way they twisted your mind, the way they made you think you were bad - _evil -_ of how they made you think somehow that you deserved it. Regina, I… I know you, I know your history and I know how strong you are. I know what you’ve survived and _god_, right now you’re the most broken I’ve ever seen.” He stops, takes a deep breath and quietly asks, “You let terrible things happen to you, didn’t you?”

It’s an accusation, but not meant to be nasty. He’s hurting for her, he’s too empathetic, her thief, and she knows he’s praying she’ll tell him she didn’t let it get that far. Regina takes a deep breath and tries to stay calm, tries to force her heart rate to stay steady and even. She can’t tell Robin that bad things didn’t happen to her, she can’t tell him that she didn’t allow it, that she didn’t welcome it. Because she did.

So she doesn’t deny it - she won’t disrespect him by trying to cover it up or lie about it,

“I let some things happen,” she admits. Robin’s hands tighten around hers, then start to rub almost possessively over them. “I’m not ready to talk about that with you,” she says, honestly, “but I want to make some appointments to see Dr. Li. Maybe… she can help me get to a point where we can work this out together, someday,” she suggests, not knowing what else to do.

Robin nods, his hands slowing down on hers until they’re at a much less fevered pace, now just gently gliding over her skin. “I think that’s… I really think that’s brilliant,” he agrees. “Maybe sometimes we can see her together?”

Regina nods, then ducks her head, laughs softly and places her hand over his heart. Her magic automatically licks at her fingertips in anticipation of the enchantment that she’ll never perform on him, and she gazes fondly at it for a moment before she teases, “Look at us, already in couples counseling and we’re not even married yet.”

“Not quite,” Robin smiles softly, but then it grows into something _more_, something promising that makes her heart stutter as he raises his hand to press it over the top of hers.

“You know, typically there’s something people do before they get married,” his eyes look extraordinarily blue right now as he looks up at her through his thick lashes, glancing from where her hand is placed over his heart and back to her eyes. “And it’s something we haven’t done yet.”

“Well,” she drawls teasingly, “We’ve already slept together, and I can’t think of any stones we’ve left unturned when it comes to that, so it must be something else,” she smirks, and he chuckles quietly in agreement.

“No, it’s not that,” he smiles, then grows more serious. “It’s something else, something two people often say to each other before they get married.”

Robin takes a deep breath, then continues quietly.

"I’ve been wanting to say this to you for a long time,” he reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear in that way she loves so much. He’s always doing that - playing with her hair, brushing it back for her even when she doesn’t need him to. She’s addicted to the way he runs his fingers through the heavy, jet black strands, and she’ll never complain about how he always seems to be combing them through it.

“Something people say before they get married?” she repeats in a whisper, her fingertips pressing more firmly against his chest. She’s not sure why she’s whispering, but her heart is pounding so fast she feels lightheaded.

“That’s right,” he smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling handsomely as he bites his lower lip for a moment, then tells her sweetly, “I love you.”

It’s like her brain stops working, because she just stares at him for a second with her hand pressed against his chest and says stupidly, “I never said that to my husband.”

Robin cocks his head to the side and nods in understanding. He knows how much she despised that old man.

“I never said it,” she repeats. “Not once.”

“I know,” is all he says.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and she studies him carefully, watches as he stays so incredibly patient with her. Regina will never understand where Robin gets that from - how he is able to wait for her like this without going crazy.

She looks at her hand, at her long, fine boned fingers just barely glowing with purple magic, and she thinks of the dozens of hearts she has stolen, of those she has crushed into ash. She thinks of the hundreds of times she has placed her hand in this exact spot on Robin’s chest, of the trust it has taken both of them to allow her evil signature so close to his purest, most vital organ. She thinks of how happy she feels right now, of how safe, and light, and _good_, and the words that have always been so difficult for her to say suddenly fall effortlessly from her lips.

“I love you, too.”

Robin grins brightly, then leans forward and captures her lips in a kiss that is so enthusiastic, it has her grabbing his shoulders for balance and making a surprised, high-pitched little _mm!_ as her stomach drops out with excitement.

He’s beautiful to her in every way, and she wonders if other women feel like this - if they become absolutely breathless when they stand in the presence of their partner - if Marian felt this way when she was with Robin. It’s not that he makes her feel like she could move mountains, or like she could swim the widest sea - no, it’s not quite so poetic or dreamy, because Regina doesn’t allow herself to believe in such silly notions anymore, not since Daniel. Robin gives her a feeling that is much more complicated, much more difficult to achieve than some overly romanticized lyric. What Robin gives her is real, and it is raw, and it is undoubtedly remarkable.

When she is with him, Robin makes her feel like she can be _herself_. He makes her feel like it’s _okay_ to be the person that she is, and sometimes, like right now, when he’s gazing at her with love in his eyes, he even manages to make her feel just a little bit proud of herself.

Regina knows that he sees all the light _and_ dark parts of her - the murders, the torture, the unspeakable crimes she has committed in the name of revenge, and he doesn’t shy away from any of it. He never makes excuses for her and he doesn’t try to cover up her past misdeeds. He knows she is broken, that she is still rotten around the edges, that she’s fighting for her sanity and fearful of her influence on him and their children. He takes a ringside seat when she battles her inner demons, knows that she’s struggling against the evil often before she does, and when she starts to lose the fight, he steps in to act as a buffer for her, just like he did last night. But he doesn’t interfere until she needs him to - he knows his place and she loves that about him - Robin trusts her to fight her own battles and he trusts her to give it her all. And when she doesn’t, or when she can’t - when she doesn’t make the right choices because she’s merely human and she’s lost, weary, and broken, he just forgives and accepts her in spite of it all; he supports her with an unshakable loyalty that she will never agree that she deserves.

When she’s with him she is all at once the Queen, the Mayor, _and_ Regina; no longer shifting between the masks of each persona but exposed and open to him, finally allowing herself to decompartmentalize, which Robin continually encourages with his steadfast understanding and infinite patience.

“Bedroom,” she pants between kisses, desperately pressing her lips to his again and again before he has a chance to answer her. “I love you, Robin, take me to bed,” she begs.

She can do this, she can be this way with him because she trusts him. Because she loves him. And unlike so many other people who have said those three words to her, she knows that when _he_ tells her, he actually, truly _means it_.

She’s known it for a long time, even though she wouldn’t let him voice it. It’s too difficult for her to hear, to say - it’s an expression that, much like magic, _always comes with a cost. _Regina has paid that price time and time again, has been burned by it, _scorched_ by those closest to her. The expression that ‘it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all’ has always left a bitter taste on her tongue, and she’s long held the opinion that whoever wrote that line had obviously never experienced the love of a mother like Cora.

But as Robin carries her to the adjoining room of her vault and lays her down in the soft, familiar bed, Regina thinks she might be starting to change her mind about voicing her feelings for him. The only person she’s ever freely said _I love you_ to is Henry, and before this madness with her sister, she had also started saying it to Roland. She used to say it to Daniel, but that was different. It was the expression of two teenagers in love and in lust, not two adults who have survived what she and Robin have.

Now though, it’s as if the dam has broken and she can’t stop the words from spilling out. She wants to start and end every day by saying those three words to Robin, she wants to punctuate each parting of ways with it, to text it to him whenever she’s thinking of him. Regina wants to murmur it between each kiss, to whisper it in his ear when they’re cuddling, to hear how it sounds falling from her lips when he’s making love to her. She wants all of these things so much that she bites her lip to save herself from embarrassment, to keep from babbling like a fool and telling him she loves him at least a hundred times right now.

She pulls Robin down on top of her, unwilling to let him go even for a second, immediately wanting him as close to her as possible. This is the last place they were truly intimate and she has the urge to top the incredible night they spent here, to go above and beyond that just to prove to him that she didn’t hurt herself because of what they did here. She knows he doesn’t understand why she burned that date into her skin, and he probably never will. If she’s being honest, even _she_ doesn’t fully understand it, but one thing she _is_ absolutely certain of is that she doesn’t regret what they did last November, and she’s going to prove that to him tonight.

Robin’s hands are soft against her, wandering lightly to brush through her hair, along her neck, down the side of her arms as he settles over her. His hands play over her ribs as if he were stroking the ivory keys of a grand piano, his fingers moving fluently over her skin in beautifully flowing arpeggios, his soothing touch akin to the dreamlike melody of Debussy’s Reverie. It feels lovely, but it’s not enough – she needs his skin against hers, and she needs it soon. There is a wild desperation thrumming through her veins that she tries hard to tamp down, but she knows that it’s only a matter of time before it gets the better of her. It’s no secret that the only time _her_ patience is unlimited is when it comes to Roland and Henry.

She squirms under him, and Robin kisses slowly down her neck, resisting the directing press of her hands against his shoulders, his deep, masculine laugh vibrating against her chest and stomach as he inches his way lower and lower.

“Easy, darling,” he chides, “We have all afternoon.”

“Exactly,” she argues, “Time for multiple rounds.”

Robin hums and unzips the hoodie she’s wearing – _his_ hoodie, the gray one she stole in New York. He spreads the sides open and she becomes very aware that she’s dressed in a simple black long sleeve v-neck underneath, and she’s hit with an unusual wave of self-consciousness. Usually she’s bold, usually she exudes confidence in her appearance. But today is special in so many ways, and she wants to make this perfect for him, she wants this to heal him in the way he’s healed her.

And right now, she feels about as sexy as if she were wearing footie pajamas.

“I can use a little magic to change,” she suggests. “I wasn’t exactly expecting this today. I’m afraid I’m not wearing the most stimulating outfit for you.”

Robin pauses and brings his head up from where he had been pressing warm kisses to her chest, dipping his tongue down and licking as far south as the edge of her collar will allow.

“I absolutely forbid it,” he teases, his voice deep and rough with arousal. “I love what you’ve got on - it’s sexy as hell when you wear my clothes.”

Regina lifts a dubious eyebrow and studies his expression. He’s biting his bottom lip, brow creased with concentration, and from the way his pupils are blown wide, one might think she was in leather or lace, or god, at least a corset.

She counters with, “It’s sexy as hell when you strip me _out_ of your clothes,” then runs her fingers through his hair, scratching her nails lightly across his scalp and licking her lips when he automatically leans into the sensation she creates.

He nods. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She secretly loves when he undresses her. Regina usually does it – she’s usually in a hurry to feel him against her and often uses magic to shortcut the entire thing, although in the past she has teased him with little dances and sexy shows of it. She even tied him to the chair in her office once and made him watch while she slowly removed one article of clothing at a time, dragging the entire thing out, minute after torturous minute, until he was begging her for the next piece to come off. Then she’d teased him further - it was too tempting not to - she’d climbed up on her desk and engaged in a variety of delightfully erotic solo activities that had him cursing his restraints and all the stars above. When she’d finally let Robin have her that day, he’d taken her _so rough_ and made her come _so hard_ \- he’d left her bruised and sore and positively breathless in the very best of ways - that she still blushes just thinking about it.

Not to mention the added bonus that if Snow White knew all of the things they’d done on the Mayor’s desk, she’s certain her step-daughter would be positively traumatized. Especially since she’s been using that same desk for almost a year now.

But oh, when Robin takes her clothes off, it’s a complete contrast to how she does it. He’s so careful, so gentle, and it’s almost as if she can feel his affection for her pouring off of him as he pushes her shirt up and drops his head to press hot, sucking kisses to her stomach. He slips his fingers under the waistband of her leggings and pulls them down inch by inch, following the path with his mouth and pausing to press kisses all along the tops of her thighs before he scoots toward the foot of the bed to pull her pants and socks the rest of the way off. On his way back up, he smooths his large, warm hands up the length of each of her legs, goosebumps breaking across her sensitive skin when his fingertips swirl in teasing patterns over her, and she takes a deep, steadying breath and settles in, recognizing the look in Robin’s eyes, the one that tells her this is not going to be over any time soon.

She knows how much he likes to take his time with her in bed, how important it is for him to touch, and taste, and talk to her before they get to the final act. Robin doesn’t like to be rushed unless they’re doing something naughty, something where the situation purposely calls for it. When they’re at home, Regina almost feels like he’s _savoring_ her - and it took her a long time to get used to it. She’s never had a lover like him, has never had anyone interested in anything more than getting off and getting away from her. She’s been lonely for a very long time, and although she’s taken other lovers, she has never bothered to hope and has certainly never expected to find someone who actually enjoyed getting into bed with her for things other than sex.

And Robin is so much more than just sex.

He has her shirt off now, so she's stripped down to just her black bra and underwear while he kneels between her legs and tugs his hoodie and t-shirt over his head. Her breath catches at the sight of him – her thief is gorgeously sculpted, the lines of his chest and abs are cut clearly along each muscle group, his golden skin interrupted with mesmerizing scars that tell the tales of his life as an outlaw. She licks her lips and drags her full bottom one slowly through her teeth, wanting to touch him, to taste him, to trace each perfect imperfection of his body with her tongue. She has a small obsession with his arms – they’re bulky with muscle, his shoulders broad and thick, and she loves that he’s not afraid to pick her up once in a while, that he treats her like a lady when she has spent so long being regarded as anything but. Regina can almost hear the slurs echoing in her head - _ungrateful brat, jealous bride, murderer, witch, monster_. She tries to shut the darkness out, wraps her hands around Robin’s wrists and runs her fingers up, up, up, stroking lovingly across his biceps then traveling further to slip around behind his neck. She pulls his head down to press her lips to his, opens her mouth and teases his tongue with hers, moaning softly at the warm, wet contact, shivering just a little because it feels like forever since she’s kissed him.

Robin settles over her, their hot, bare stomachs connect as he lets his weight sink down, their faces close, noses brushing, lips teasing but not quite kissing. He presses his chest to hers and she arches, rubs against him and tilts her head back with the flash of arousal elicited by the friction she can feel through her bra. _Oooh,_ she likes that – needs that – her body is heating up with him on top of her, he’s pressed against her all over with his hardness nudging against her inner thigh, teasing her, riling her up – _god_ he feels good.

Robin kisses her lips lightly, quick little pecks and nips that he won’t let her deepen, moving to her cheek, her jawline, then - _ohhh -_ flicking his tongue down the column of her throat. He’s so familiar with her body by now that he needs no instruction, in a matter of minutes he has her so stimulated that her arousal is already crackling across her skin like electricity, lighting her up, _up_, _**up** _for him. She’s hot and aching and needy - gasping and rocking her hips rhythmically, wrapping one leg up high around his hip in encouragement, as she palms his ass, trying to get some relief where she needs it most.

“Tell me how you want it,” he says, his voice deep and full of gravel as he sucks kisses all along her jaw. “Tell me how I can please you best, my darling.”

“Anything,” she whispers, smoothing her hands over his back. “Give me everything, Robin, I’m yours.”

Robin makes a rough, possessive sounding noise in the back of his throat as he sucks on her pulse point point in reaction and brings one hand to her chin, tipping her head back as he sucks fiercly on the skin of her neck. She knows he’s marking her, he’s doing it more than once and Regina knows she should probably stop him. She should tell him that this is exactly what got her into trouble the last time they did this, but instead, she keeps her tongue firmly behind her perfect teeth, reserves her voice for the breathy, lusty moans that she’s panting as he switches sides and sucks yet another purplish bruise just above her collarbone. _Oh, god_, she should stop him, it’s just - _shit _\- she can’t.

Because she really, _really _wants him to do it.

She wants his marks all over her, wants them like she wants her next breath. Wants them more than any of the punishments she gave herself, wants them more than any reward she could ever dream up. She wants to be able to look in the mirror later and see the evidence of him all over her, wants to see where his mouth suckled her, where his fingers bruised her, where his come dried on her. If there was ever a place she belonged in all of the realms, it’s right here - it’s with _him_ \- and she doesn’t know any other way to hold onto this moment than to encourage these physical reminders and pray that he’ll continue to give her more.

Robin pulls the strap of her bra off her shoulder and dots kisses down the invisible line where it was, then tugs the cup down to expose her breast. He lowers his mouth to her without hesitation, his tongue circling her pebbled nipple before he wraps his lips around it and sucks. The slick heat of his mouth makes her gasp a needy, “_Yes!_” followed quickly by her burying her fingers in his hair and sighing, “_Oooh!_” as he pulses the suction of his mouth and flicks over her with his tongue, rubbing the sensitive tip until she’s squirming. Robin teases her with his tongue, gives her hard pulling sucks in between careful scrapes of his teeth, letting her grow more and more sensitive beneath the ministrations of his mouth until she can nearly feel her pulse in the tip of her breast. Her panties are soaked, she’s rubbing up against him the best that she can and running her hands all over his shoulders and back, threading through his hair and telling him how good he feels when she gains the rare opportunity to catch her breath, but she can’t do much else with him on top of her, his weight pinning her in a way that only arouses her further. Robin uses his large, calloused hand to cup and knead her thick flesh as she begins to tremble, and she can’t take it anymore, she blindly reaches down to shove at the other cup of her bra, directing his head to her utterly neglected breast. When he switches sides to lick and lave his tongue over the sensitive peak he finds there, she arches right off the bed with how incredible it feels.

“Bloody beautiful,” he murmurs against her, raising one hand so he can take her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Have you any idea how much I’ve longed for this?” He dips down to suck forcefully on her hardened tip while he twists and tweaks the one between his fingers. “Think about these all the time,” he groans, then reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and slide it off. He often talks to her as he touches her - she’s not sure if he’s even aware that he’s doing it sometimes - but it drives her absolutely wild for him.

“Remember the time we used those clamps on you?” he asks, pinching the tips of her breasts and holding them tightly as he – _oh, oh jesus _– sucks hotly along the plump inner swells, marking the left with a dark red hickey.

“Mmhmm,” she returns, incapable of anything more than hummed syllables while she envisions the time he trapped her nipples in those diamond studded clamps then proceeded to fuck her six ways to Sunday.

“Christ, that was hot,” he murmurs. Robin tugs on her, plucks at her nipples several times, then - _mmm _\- pulses his fingers on them as she writhes beneath him. “Oh, babe, that’s perfect,” he moans, staring down at her. “Your tits are turning so red for me. That what you want? You want me to get your pretty little nipples all worked up and throbbing like we did that time?”

Regina nods, then breaks into low, drawled, “_Ohhh!_” as he pinches her nipples hard again. She jerks upward and rubs her sodden core against his thigh several times, trying to send the message more clearly that she needs him to touch her there, she needs something, _anything_ to relieve the tingling heat that’s building with each squeeze of his fingers on her breasts. He’s starting to get a little rough with her from his own pent up arousal, and - _goddd _\- she’s so, _so _ready for that. She loves when he loses control and she’ll give anything to get him as worked up as she is right now.

“More,” she demands breathlessly, scratching her nails down his forearms and covering his big hands with hers. “I need more - touch me, mark me - please, gotta-gimme-more.”

Robin massages her breasts for another moment, then drops one hand to press against her sex and licks his lips when she bucks against him.

“Don’t worry, my love, I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, slips her panties off, then runs his fingers over her slick outer lips. “_Bloody hell_, you’re _so_ wet,” he groans, and she rolls her hips against his hand, trying to get more friction even as he rubs his fingers through her soaked, swollen folds.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he tells her, and she nods her agreement. “Missed the way you feel, darling, missed the way you sound, the way you taste…” he trails off as he dips two fingers inside of her and she exhales in pleasure, tipping her hips up in encouragement as he gives her a few shallow, gentle thrusts. “_Christ_, you feel good. Always so tight, aren’t you?” he rasps, burying his fingers deep and curling them, searching for that spot that sends white hot pleasure shooting through her.

Regina’s mouth drops open, her tongue darting out to lick her lips as he works his fingers in and out of her, adjusting little by little, until he brushes against that spot that makes her gasp, makes her throw her head back and grab for his wrist to keep him exactly where he is. Robin recognizes her reaction and immediately gets to work on her, thumping his fingers in precisely the right place, and Regina arches her back in response, shamelessly drops her thighs wide open to grant him better access and lets go of his wrist in favor of digging her nails into his back as he starts to pleasure her - _oh, oh, jesus_ \- _right there_.

“You like that?” he confirms, “Is that what my Queen needs?”

“Yesss, _goddd_ yes,” she pants.

She _loves_ when Robin refers to her as ‘his Queen’ when they’re intimate - there is something in the way he says it, something that excites her, that makes her feel more powerful than she ever did when she ruled the entire Enchanted Forest.

“Then it’s what my Queen shall have.”

She can’t make words - two references in a row is too much for her at this point - so she just scratches her nails up his back and lets out a moan that sounds so indecent it could never be considered _regal_.

Robin smiles knowingly at her and increases the speed of his fingers, thrusting smoothly and tapping right on her g-spot while he angles his palm to rub against her clit. She’s so sensitive – the little bundle of nerves is swollen and hard with her arousal, little shocks of pleasure shimmering through it with each press of his hand. She’s so wet that the sloppy sounds his fingers make as he works them inside of her are making her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She can feel the dampness smearing across her inner thighs, her nipples are peaked and aching from Robin’s earlier attentions, there is a hot flush working up her chest and neck, and if she doesn’t get a release soon she’s afraid that she may just overheat and melt right through the bed.

“Robin, please,” she pleads, her hips moving in time with his hand. “I want you inside of me, please - _oh god -_ please.”

“You’re almost there, darling,” he argues, “Let me finish you this way, then I’ll take you properly and get you off again.”

“No, please,” she begs, _whines_, “Want you now.” She hates the way she sounds, but she’s waited _so long_ for this. It’s been forever since they’ve been together, and she wants to come on his _cock_, not his fingers.

So she tells him that.

“Oh, hell,” he groans, speeding up his fingers. “You can’t say things like that, you irresistible little tease.” He _thrust-thrust-thrusts_ his fingers, dips his head to suck roughly on each of her nipples, causing her to release a high-pitched gasp of pure need. “I’m already hard as granite for you, and once we start, _christ_, I’m not sure I can stop.”

“Then don’t stop,” she tells him breathlessly, reaching for his face with both hands and pulling him to her so she can kiss him as he continues to fuck her with his fingers. He doesn’t let up, not for a second - if anything he works his fingers _faster_ inside of her - and Regina’s legs start to shake as her arousal spirals further and further up, her clit _throbbing_ under the assault of his palm. She nips at his lips, unable to control the twitch of her hips as she chases her pleasure and adds, “Don’t ever stop - not ever. _I love you_.”

Robin moans, kisses her fiercely and returns the sentiment - _I love you_ \- against her lips before he suddenly _slow - slow - slows_ his fingers, then carefully slips them out of her. He sits up and sucks his fingers clean, letting out a low growl of satisfaction as he closes his eyes and savors her, his other hand smoothing over her flat, smooth stomach then drifting down, spreading her slick folds so he can look at her. Regina shifts her legs wider for him - if he wants to look, she’ll allow it, he has certainly earned it.

“You’re a vision, my love,” he tells her, rakes his eyes up and down her naked body, then licks his lips and focuses very obviously on her sex. He stares at her like he just _can’t_ look away, and it makes heat flood her already overstimulated core. His hands go for his belt, and he starts tugging the leather free of the buckle, his movements jerky and his beautiful blue eyes fixed on her.

Regina’s thoughts are being driven by the pulsing ache between her thighs - an ache that is completely _overwhelming_ her. So instead of poetic words of devotion, she goes with something more direct.

“My view isn’t too bad either,” she teases, reaching for him and running her fingers over his abs before she tucks them down the front of his underwear. “But I’d love to see a little more.”

Robin smirks, quickly sheds the rest of his clothes and lays down beside her. They take a few minutes just to look, to kiss, and to run their hands over each other as they lay on their sides and savor this moment, both admittedly surprised to find themselves here after all that has happened.

Regina runs her hand over his thick neck, his broad chest and chiseled abs, then scoots closer so she can wrap her fingers around the hot, heavy length of him. She ducks her head to watch her hand as she strokes him, loving the way Robin’s defined abs clench and tremor as she starts to pump. She’s careful, only giving him light strokes - nothing too intense - because he is thankfully _so_ hard for her and she wants him to last, wants him buried inside of her as soon as possible, but she just can’t bear to pass up the opportunity to watch him slide through her fingers for a few minutes. He’s _gorgeous_.

“I want to use my mouth on you,” she admits, amused at how rough and low her voice is. _God,_ she wants him.

Robin groans and thrusts lightly into her fist.

“Shouldn’t,” he advises, “You’re too talented.” They both laugh softly before he adds, “I want to go as long as possible for you.”

Regina notices that he doesn’t outright deny her the right to go down on him however, and she nearly falls prey to her own temptation. But then one of Robin’s hands is between her legs again, the pads of his fingers swirling over her clit, while the thumb of his other hand starts flicking at her nipple, and she has a rush of desire run through her so intensely that she arches her entire body toward him, seeking out the reason they moved into this position to begin with.

She bends her knee and brings her leg up over his hip as they shift closer together, lining up so he can slide inside of her, and it’s preposterous, but her heart starts pounding as hard as if this is the first time they’ve done this - as if this is the first time she’s _ever_ done it. Regina releases her hold on his length to clutch tightly to Robin’s bicep, trying to steady herself, and is beyond grateful when he bumps her nose with his, drawing her attention upward, then starts kissing her. His lips are soft and reassuring, his tongue is sweet and familiar when he strokes it against hers - it’s all a perfect remedy to the sudden nervousness she’s feeling about finally getting her man back.

Because that’s what she’s doing, isn’t it? She’s getting him back, right?

Regina thinks for a moment, and no, she decides. She’s not _getting_ him back. A thousand images of the past several months blitz through her head - all of the things she’s willingly given up, all of the times she has stepped aside, been the bigger person, accepted that happiness was just not in the cards for her. She recalls every lonely minute, every tear she cried, every judgement she accepted, every scorching press of the hot iron, every night spent as a prisoner to the darkness because she was told, tricked, _convinced _that she was _evil, _that she doesn’t deserve this. And maybe she doesn’t - she’s not pure of heart, she’s not ‘good’, and she’s certainly not _fixed_. She’s a mess.

But she _is _the Mayor. And she _is_ the Queen. She is Henry’s mother, and Cora’s daughter, she _is_ Regina-fucking-Mills -

And she is _**taking**_ her man back.

For the first time in a very long time, confidence streaks through her, causing her nervousness to abate while her desire for Robin spikes, now completely unhindered by the burden of fear she’s been harboring. Regina pushes firmly against his shoulder, rolling him onto his back and moving so that she’s straddling him, her thighs spread wide and her hands on his chest for balance. A sexy smile graces her features while her dark hair cascades down over her shoulders, and she takes a moment to drink in the stunning, masculine features of the man below her, the man that she is adamant about calling _hers_ now, and for the rest of her life.

She raises one eyebrow and runs her hands over his broad chest, lets her nails scrape just a little, red lines raising on his golden skin as she traces around his nipples then drags her fingers down to his stomach. _God,_ he’s gorgeous – irresistible – Regina has no idea how she was ever able to restrain herself when he was practically begging to touch her all those times before, and she’s finally forced to admit that she must have better self-control than she’s given herself credit for. She presses her slick sex against him, hissing at the contact – he’s _so hard - _rocks her hips and drags herself slowly along his length, coating him with her arousal. Regina drops her eyes and looks at where they are _almost_ joined, and _ohhh,_ the visual is nearly too much. She bites her lip as she stares at them, feeling like quite a tart over the fact that her mouth is positively watering as she watches the head of him slipping and sliding through her soaked, swollen folds. She wants to fuck him _hard_, wants to come all over him, and then oh, more than anything, she wants to lick him clean, wants their mixed flavor on her tongue as she sucks him to completion. She knows how much he likes that too – how he loves it when she takes him in her mouth, how his blue eyes burn with appreciation for her when she swallows his release. She rubs herself faster on him, heat and moisture building in her core – _jesus _– she’s throbbing, simmering and ready to go. Regina licks her lips and shifts back, takes him in hand and starts stroking smoothly, his length making her palm slippery from her own arousal, her pulse accelerating with anticipation.

She centers herself over him and positions him so that he’s right against her entrance. They lock eyes - her hands are shaking with excitement, her nipples peaked with arousal, and when she speaks, her voice is a low drawl.

“You’re mine, Thief.”

Robin moans, nods without hesitation, and she slowly,_ deliberately _sinks down onto him.

When she has taken him all the way in, she has a moment of complete euphoria – of concentrated bliss – where her mouth drops open and this high-pitched, breathy little, “_Hahh-ahh_,” falls from her lips. She has to brace herself with her hands on his chest to stay upright as her thighs tremble, the wide, unfamiliar stretch causing her inner muscles to flutter wildly, nearly driving her to orgasm without him giving her so much as a single thrust.

Regina slams her eyes closed and clenches her teeth, determined not to come. She wants more – she wants to ride him with abandon, wants him just as desperate, wants him unable to hold back when it happens. She wants it _all_ – and she refuses to let it be over before they’ve barely started.

“_Christ_,” Robin groans, his hands grabbing her hips with enough force to bruise. “Ohhh, babe, you’re so close – _fuck -_ are you gonna come for me already?”

Regina ignores his question, concentrating with everything she’s got - she almost has it, she almost has control.

“_Bloody hell_,” he moves his hands from her hips to cup her breasts and starts to - _mmm! - _flick rapidly over both of her nipples. She whimpers and automatically jerks her hips in response, driving him a little deeper inside of her, losing what little control she had gained back as the hot arousal starts rushing through her again.

“Let go for me,” he coaxes her. “There’s no reason to hold off, darling, it’s just you and me, and we have all the time in the world.”

“Not yet, not yet,” she pants, but her hips are rocking now - she can’t stop them. She can feel the hot, intense pressure building in her core, the heated flush blooming on her chest, her neck, her cheeks – _oh god, ohhh god_ – she’s so close.

“Yes, _now_,” he argues, his hands moving to her hips and lifting her a little, then _– shiiit_ \- pulling her down with vigor, slamming his length _way up_ inside of her – _ohhh god!_ – causing wetness to seep from her. “You deserve this, and you’ve waited long enough.”

And that’s it - that’s exactly what she needs to hear.

Regina lets go of her control, rises up on her knees and starts slamming herself down on him, finally giving into what she’s been denying herself. With each meeting of their bodies, his thick length hits her _so_ deep that she loses her breath, and her breasts bounce deliciously, her nipples tightening in reaction - already sensitive from Robin’s earlier attentions. She drops her head back and moves faster, _faster_ over him, arching her back as her breathing becomes erratic, her inner muscles _tighten-tighten-tightening_ with every slap of her hips against his. She’s close, _god_, it’s obscene but she’s almost there – he’s so big and deep, stretching her wide – _ah, ah_ \- and then she leans back, puts each of her hands on his thighs behind her as she bows her back and –_ shit!_ – he’s hitting her _right there_, right where she needs it – _oh dear god_. White-hot pleasure streaks through her, flies right up her spine, eliciting a full body shudder that seems to go on forever. Her legs begin to shake, her nipples are tight and aching for attention, her lips parted as she gasps for her next breath, and then his thumb is on her clit – oh fuck, oh _yes!_ Robin rubs circles relentlessly on the swollen nub as she fucks him, her ass slapping loudly against his upper thighs, nails digging into his legs, and when he hits her g-spot _again-again-again, _she moans with such wanton abandon she doesn’t even recognize her own voice.

Without warning, Robin speeds up on her clit and starts thrusting _harder_, _faster _– driving up into her in counter rhythm. The hot, tingling pleasure intensifies, she loses control and goes absolutely wild, bouncing frantically on him and burying one of her hands in her thick black hair, pulling roughly while she strokes the other down her neck to squeeze her breast.

And - that’s all it takes.

She comes like the strike of a match - heat flaring out from her core, her inner muscles contracting and releasing over, and over, _and over_ as her world narrows down to the erratic pulse between her thighs.

Robin is perfect - _oh god_ – he takes care to prolong her pleasure, using his thumb to swipe smoothly over her swollen, throbbing clit, his other hand on her ass, guiding her movements up and down his cock as her orgasm overtakes her and she loses coordination.

“That’s it gorgeous,” he murmurs, and when she clenches hard on him, “_Oh christ_.”

Regina is caught up in ecstasy, her body jolting as Robin starts to pick up the pace again, rapping his hips quickly and sliding up into her faster and faster, causing little gasps and whines to escape from the back of her throat as her arousal reignites and another hard tremor wracks through her.

“Let go for me,” he tells her, “all the way now.” He grabs her ass with both of his large, calloused hands and spreads her cheeks, his grip firm.

_Oh god_ – she knows what he’s doing - _oh god oh god oh god_ \- she’s not ready for more yet, for god’s sake, she’s still coming – she’s, she’s - _fuck!_

Robin drives up _hard_ while at the same time he forcefully pulls her down, and Regina clutches his shoulders for balance – squeezing her eyes closed, completely overwhelmed by the sensation. She’s clenching on him, her clit is on fire - fuck, _fuck! – _and he’s working her vigorously on him, _mercilessly_ \- his big hands jerking her up and down his length _so fast_. He’s wonderfully strong – all that muscle flexing and bunching as he maneuvers her, and she can’t do anything but hang on and _take it_. Her core spasms around him again and – _jesus_ – she’s so wet, he’s hitting that spot that makes her _gush _and she can’t feel her legs – _oh god oh god oh god_. Regina gives herself over to his rough handling, closes her eyes and basks in the feeling of him slamming into her again and again, feels the wet warmth rushing from her body as she contracts around his thick length over and over, completely unwilling to ask him to stop the forceful strokes that are causing her to make _such_ a mess.

_Ohhh_, how she’s needed this, needed _him_ \- _god_, she’s been _lost_ without him.

He moves one hand to rub her clit and _that’s it_ for her – she cries out as she positively _shatters - _her nails biting into his chest as she comes undone. Her already shaking legs go into full-out spasms, her hearing goes to static, and if it wasn’t poetic she’d swear she sees stars. She can’t do anything other than collapse, so she does - she falls on his chest and lays there just contracting, and trembling, and trying to remember how to breathe, while Robin wraps his arms tightly around her waist. He thrusts slowly and steadily inside of her, almost lazily now that he’s wrecked her _so_ damn good, and when she can finally form a thought, she wonders how the hell he hasn’t come yet.

When the rush finally spirals out, Regina feels dazed, high, and outrageously sensitive. She adjusts so he slips out of her and tips her head up to rest her chin on his chest.

“I just,” she takes a shuddery breath, “need a minute.” A silly, satisfied smile turns up the corners of her lips, and she’s helpless to stop it.

Robin laughs softly beneath her and brushes her hair off her forehead. “Take however long you need.”

“How are you still hard?” she huffs out a deep breath against his chest.

He chuckles beneath her and tips his head to the side. “I’d hope I can last longer than all of five minutes,” he smirks.

Regina whips her head around to check the clock on the far side of the room – surely it’s been longer than that…

Oh, dear.

No. No it has not.

Regina turns back and flashes him a guilty smile. He laughs outright - the sound rich and beautiful to her ears as he squeezes her tightly to him. She laughs a little too – embarrassed but not too much – it _has_ been almost a year – then she scoots up his body to kiss him. His lips feel incredible against hers, the push and pull of their lips slow and steady, interspersed with gentle teases of their tongues as they explore each other’s mouths, and she keeps kissing him, simply because she can. She slides her fingers smoothly along his cheeks, the pads catching lightly against the stubble of his beard, making her smile and think once again of how lucky she is to have him. She thinks of how close she was to giving in when the darkness came calling, of how she nearly fell into evil and ruin without him and how she still can’t believe she is here, all safe and sound, wrapped up in him.

She kisses, and kisses, and kisses him, until she feels calm and settled, then she sits up, needing to see his expression when she tells him this. It’s important that he understands what she’s trying to say, that he truly gets what she means and that she doesn’t somehow give him the wrong message. She needs to be in control for this, needs to show him what he means to her, that even though _she_ is dark, defective, polluted – what they have between them is not.

“There are a thousand things I should apologize for,” she starts, making sure he sees how serious she is. “And a thousand things I should regret.”

Robin frowns, and she takes a steadying breath, knowing he’s not going to like this next part.

“I know that this hurts you,” she bears her mutilated forearm to him and watches the pain cloud his eyes before he drops his gaze. She softens her voice as she asks him, “Please don’t look away.”

Robin reluctantly meets her eyes, confusion written clearly across his features, but when she offers no further explanation, he simply takes a deep breath and brings his gaze back to the ugly scars, trusting her not to hurt him more than is necessary.

“I need you to know that I don’t regret doing this – and I never will – not for one second.”

“Why?” Robin shakes his head, his face pinched in pain and confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Because it has led me to _this_ moment,” she places her right hand on his chest and lets her magic flare around her fingertips, knowing he can feel the tingle of it right over his heart. “And of all the bad decisions I’ve made, of all the choices I _do_ regret, giving you my heart will _never_ be one of them.”

Robin’s eyes go red around the edges, and he reaches up to stroke his fingers lovingly over her cheekbone.

“So you see,” she reasons, looking pointedly at her brands, “this doesn’t have to be a reminder of the terrible things that happened. If we want, if we try, perhaps it can be a reminder of the incredible things we have, in spite of all that has happened.”

Robin squints at her arm and takes a slow deep breath.

“I can’t promise that,” he tells her, dropping his hand and tracing the pad of his index finger over each of the numbers in 11/5/2015. Her heart aches at his words, self-loathing bubbling up when he continues, “I don’t know that I’ll ever see anything but my mistakes, that I’ll ever see anything but the pain you went through when I wasn’t there to support you, when I didn’t protect you, when I… when I _failed_ you.” Regina is about to comfort him, to argue that in her opinion, he didn’t do any of those things, but he surprises her by adding, “But I’m willing to try.”

She nods. “That’s all I’m asking.”

He sits up then, shifting her back a little so he can cup her face between his large, warm hands. “I’m with you,” he tells her, his blue eyes bright and sincere.

“And I’m with you,” she returns, smoothing her hands over his.

“Can I ask you something?” Robin takes her hands in his and holds them tightly. At her nod, he continues, “You and me, Henry and Roland – we’re together too then, yeah? Would you say the four of us, we’re uh, we’re a family?”

Regina nods, her eyes crinkling around the edges when she smiles, thinking of their boys and how her heart has _never_ felt so full.

“Oh, that’s a relief, then,” he smiles brightly and kisses her knuckles.

She furrows her brow, confused. “What’s a relief?”

Robin shrugs. “It’s just that well, you know that I’m the leader of the Merry Men, and Roland, well, he’s the littlest member…”

Regina tilts her head, confused.

“Now that all of my men have pledged their allegiance to you,” Robin continues, “you’ve also become one of us. So, I was worried you’d be upset that I hadn’t found the time to specifically ask you about it, but you’ve been so busy with so many other things, and I didn’t want him to feel left out. Anyway, I really think it’ll be good for him, and it’s just a relief to know we’re on the same page.”

Regina stares at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Henry,” Robin says, and at her dumbfounded expression, he clarifies further, “I’ve inducted him into the Merry Men.”

She widens her eyes in shock. “You _what?_”

He is clearly alarmed by her tone. “I…” he pauses, then shakes his head. “Is that not… should I not have done that?” Robin asks, looking all at once perplexed and outrageously guilty. “It’s been part of his chores at camp,” he explains, “I’ve got him working on a project with a few of the men and it just seemed like a natural conclusion. The boy doesn’t have many friends apart from that electronic gaming device and he seems to enjoy the forest – he and Much have hit it off quite nicely, actually and -”

Regina lunges for him, crushing her lips to his as she topples him over backwards, her arms around his neck as she kisses him with every ounce of affection she feels inside.

Robin has made her son one of his own – has adopted him into his band of heroes without her ever having to ask, without her even knowing it, all because he just _legitimately cares_ about Henry. After everything, after all the things they have been through, Robin could have easily turned a cold shoulder to her son, and she could not have blamed him, but instead he’s done the exact opposite. He’s made Henry feel like he’s part of something bigger, like he’s part of his team, like he _belongs_.

Regina could cry with how much she loves this man.

Robin laughs against her lips and rolls them so she’s on her back, then kisses her fiercely, his tongue dipping into her mouth to stroke alongside hers before he pulls back and asks her, “So, just to be clear, you’re happy about my including Henry? I _should_ have done that?”

She smiles and runs her fingers through his hair. Her voice is rough with emotion when she tells him, “Yes, yes you should.”

He grins – his smile takes her breath away - and he lifts his eyebrows a little triumphantly. “And what about this?” he asks, pressing a few kisses to her chin, then down the column of her throat to her collarbone. “Should I do this?”

Regina threads her fingers through his soft hair. “Mm, yes, absolutely.”

He kisses a line to the center of her sternum, then pauses to shift so he’s laying between her legs. “You’ll have to pardon the detour for a moment, milady,” he throws her a mischievous wink and brings his hands up to frame the outside edges of her breasts. Robin presses them together and takes a good long look at her, makes an approving, _“Mm_,” in his throat, then ducks his head and sucks firmly on her left nipple.

“_Ohhh,_” Regina arches up, her fingers pressing to the back of his head as he pulls _slow-slow-slowly _on the tip of her breast, letting it slip from his mouth without breaking the suction, then licking at it with quick flicks of his tongue. God, he knows her body too well, knows how to start her all over again even after he’s thoroughly wrecked her. She’s still feeling the after effects of their first round, is tingly and swollen, but heat is rushing to her core with every swipe of his tongue over and around her nipple, with every nip and scrape of his teeth against the curve of her breast. He switches and treats her right side to the same treatment, drawing on the tip of her other breast with long, sucking pulls of his lips and quick little flicks of his tongue, both of which cause more and more wetness to pool between her thighs in excitement.

He continues on his way down her body after only a few short minutes though, kissing down the flat planes of her stomach and dragging his fingertips along her ribs and hips as he goes. He settles between her thighs with his mouth hovering over her sex, and when his hot breath hits the wetness that is already starting to drip from her, it finally occurs to her this has been his intended destination all along.

“_Mmm_,” she half-moans when Robin uses his hands to spread her legs wider as he positions himself more comfortably. “Baby, you d-don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he says quietly, smoothing his hands up and down her inner thighs. “Don’t play coy with me darling - you know very well how much we _both_ enjoy this. Especially me.”

Regina huffs out a laugh and drops her head back on the bed. Yes, yes she does know how much he likes this particular activity. He goes down on her more than he fucks her, and _that_ is really saying something.

Robin brings both hands to her center and starts to rub along the edges of her sex, giving her long smooth strokes that knead her core and leave her yearning for his next touch. With each unhurried pass of his fingers, he works his thumbs closer and closer to her slit, gradually moving inward until he brushes across her outer lips, which are slick and swollen from their earlier activities and her current arousal. He uses her wetness to swirl his thumbs around her in little massaging motions, pressing and working her skin and the underlying muscles, purposely avoiding her most sensitive parts. This is exactly what she means when she says that Robin doesn’t just like to take his time – the man likes to _savor_ her.

Robin turns his head and kisses along her inner thigh, sucking and biting lightly, and Regina runs her fingers through his soft hair, then scratches her nails along his scalp in that way he likes. He hums against her, and the next time his thumbs pass over her, he uses them to gently spread her folds apart. The hot, wet stroke of his tongue as he bathes her inner lips causes her to bite back a yelp that is equal parts surprise and arousal - she was not at all expecting him to already be carefully sucking on her sensitive flesh, tugging at each pink lip and rubbing with his tongue before letting her slip from his mouth. Regina throws her head back, squeezing her eyes shut while her body jumps under his mouth, the movement so fitful that he braces one arm across her hips to hold her down when he gives her the next long, broad lick, running all the way from her rear entrance to her clit, sucking hard at the sensitive bud and swirling with his tongue before repeating the motion again. He dips his tongue inside of her on the next pass, thrusts it deep and hums against her in apparent satisfaction when she rolls her hips and gasps, “Yes, _ohhh_,” with the warm, wet sensation inside of her, moaning quietly when he thrusts and swirls around her entrance. After several strokes, Robin replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, pushing them into her slowly, soft and gentle until he’s got an easy rhythm started, and then he sets to work sucking on her clit.

There is nothing like the feeling of this man’s mouth on her most sensitive area. He licks, taps, flicks and swirls in between long sucking pulls, driving his fingers smoothly in and out of her as she rocks beneath him. He’s tireless, enthusiastic and downright striking while he does it - his cheeks flushed, forehead creased in concentration, a hint of a smirk when she gasps, or pulls his hair, or pushes her hips up to him in a silent bid for more. Robin thrusts his fingers quickly, curling them just so – _god_, she’s still _so_ sensitive, and he’s quickly getting her riled up for more. He pulses the suction of his lips, rubbing his tongue rapidly across her clit – _ohhh, oh god_ – she sucks in a quick breath as the pleasure starts to build, her arousal seeping from her and coating his fingers, running down to wet the sheets. The pleasure builds up fast – she knows she's going to come again, she’s already well on her way up, tightening around his fingers, her back arching – _oh god, yes_ – but then suddenly, he stops.

_What the hell?!_

Robin slips his fingers from her, spreads her wide and says, “You’re dripping, my Queen. I had better attend to this mess.” He ducks his head and runs his flat, broad tongue over her.

“I’m so close,” she rasps, rocking her pelvis at him in encouragement, her hands twisting in the sheets. “Please, just a little more.”

“But you’re so wet,” he teases. “Someone has to clean this up before you make a mess.” He drops his head down and licks her again, then sucks intensely on her clit. Regina’s hips twitch with each pulse of his mouth and she grabs for the back of his head to keep him there, but the second she takes a hold of him, he goes back to those long, slow licks.

“Robinnn,” she drawls, “stop teasing.”

He runs his tongue through her folds, zig-zagging, swirling, and rubbing, then grins devilishly at her. “Am I teasing you?” He dips down to lick her again.

“You know you are,” she whimpers, feeling her pulse pound in her aching clit.

“Here I thought I was just looking out for you, you know how you _despise _a mess,” he smirks and Regina rolls her eyes. “But, if there’s something you need, all you’ve got to do is ask it of me,” he grins. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you.”

“You know what I need,” she huffs.

“I’m not sure that I do,” he persists.

Regina drops her head back to the mattress and groans. “I need to come.”

He grins and raises up on his hands and knees, “Is that so? Ask me nicely, then.”

Regina takes a deep breath as realization strikes her. _Oh god yes._ He’s going to do that thing, just like they used to do - he’s going to try to make her beg for it. She positively loves when they do this - _oh shit _\- her pulse is already racing - _ohhh_, how she is going to enjoy this.

She shakes her head _No, _and tries to hide her excited smirk. This is how the game is played - she has to resist him, at least for a little while.

“Well then,” he starts to crawl up her body, a playful, predatory look in his eyes that sends a shiver down her spine. Robin comes closer and closer, until he has trapped her beneath his larger body, his bright blue eyes hot, his lips a whisper away from hers, his voice nearly an octave lower than usual, laced with lust. “Let’s just see what we can do about that.”

* * *

She’s a stubborn little minx and when he _finally_ gets her to beg, so he can _finally_ let her come, she’s going to go off like a bloody rocket.

_Christ_, he loves her.

Tenacious brat that she is.

Regina doesn’t have to play such a hard game, she could just cave, could ask him, “Robin, please?” but he knows that she won’t - not until she’s absolutely desperate. It’s against her nature to concede and she’ll hold out as long as possible, sometimes until even Robin is about to throw in the towel and tell her they can’t possibly go on or _he_ might die from the frustration of not allowing her to orgasm, all because she simply _forgets_ that it’s in her best interest to give in.

But unfortunately for her that’s just not an option this time – she’s not going to forget, she’s not going to outdo him - because he’s already decided that today is just not one of those days.

His heart pounds with excitement as he fucks her on his knees from behind, his grip firm but not punishing on her wrists, holding them right next to her sweet, round arse while uses them to help pull her steadily back and forth onto his cock. She’s on her knees too, with him between them, unable to brace herself since he’s got her hands pulled back behind her, so her chest is down, her face turned to the side against the mattress, her arse high in the air, her cheeks spread wide open – _fuck_ – so he has this perfect view of both of her entrances and can watch the way his thick length stretches her, the way he disappears inside of her about half way and comes out covered in her cream. She’s a dream - all sweaty and flushed and bucking beneath him - fighting his grip on her hands every so often and growling his name. Sometimes she whines it with a little stutter and drawl when her hot inner muscles start to flutter on him, “R-Robinnn,” which causes him to immediately pull out; she’s not allowed to come until she asks him to make her do it.

She’s _dripping_ with arousal, soaking his length with every stroke – giving him a bloody good show and about a thousand reasons to throw caution to the wind and just give it to her. But he knows her and he knows she needs this – this normalcy, this old familiarity and playfulness they once had. That’s what her little speech was about – she needs to know that even though the skin of her arm is ruined, _they’re_ not; and he can do that, he can show her what she needs, because he truly believes that they are not.

“You’re holding back,” she pants, her voice sounding a bit weak. “You’re not giving me it all.”

“No?” he asks, rotating his hips as he continues to only slide into her with half of his length. “Well, you could ask for more, if what I’m giving you isn’t enough,” he teases.

“Baby, play fair,” she whines, her fingers curling and flexing, her thighs shaking just the slightest bit.

Robin smirks - _oh_, it seems she’s getting needy now - he’s finally got her on the ropes.

“My mistake, I’m sorry, darling,” he says with mock sincerity and pulls back so he’s just _barely_ in her, where he can see the ridge of the tip of his length, then he _slams_ all the way into her, so that he’s buried to the hilt. He gasps, a bit breathless himself, now, tells her, “There you are.”

Regina jolts with the force of his hips against her, and he knows she bit back a moan – he heard it, she’s not fooling him – so he pulls out, _slow, slow, slowly_, until he can once again see the tip of his cock, then he drives in _hard_ once again. _Christ_ she feels good.

“Bastard,” she whispers as the air whooshes from her lungs, and Robin laughs, pulls out, and slams into her again.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he teases, ramming into her. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Didn’t you say you wanted it all? You’ve asked me to play fair, and now that I’ve given in to your demands, _I’m_ a bastard for it?”

His cock throbs, he feels that familiar heaviness and he suddenly realizes he’s going to have to be careful with this, or he’s going to come before she does. She feels too bloody good – all tight, and wet, and riled up, _god_, he’s never had another woman who got him quite so turned on. He knows it’s for the simple reason that there just _aren’t_ other women that compare to her - Regina is in a league that is all her own.

“Shut up, and _oooh_ –” she interrupts herself on his next thrust, then grits out her demand, “Let me come.” She tugs at his grip on her hands and wiggles her arse defiantly as he bottoms out on his next stroke.

“You know the rules,” he counters, slamming his cock back inside of her, “ask me nicely.”

Regina’s voice is _full_ of that brash attitude she puts on that he positively adores when she growls, “Make me.”

He’s not quite sure if she means, ‘make her _come’_ or ‘make her _ask’_, so he figures he might as well go for both. Without warning, he lets go of her right wrist and shifts to the side a bit, raises his free hand, and brings it down on a hard slap to her arse. She yelps with surprise and bucks under the contact, and a rush of dominance zings through him.

“You know better than to get smart with me,” he mock-scolds, smirking at the way she immediately clenches in reaction to his words. “Now be a good girl and ask me to make you come.”

She’s breathlessly obstinate, and Robin swears he can _hear_ her arousal in the low, gravelly tone she uses when she turns her head enough to say, “_Never_.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He’d never speak to her like this outside of these games, but he knows how much she loves it right now – it had been _her_ idea in the first place.

He releases her other hand, and before she has a chance to regain her balance he reaches forward quickly, gathering up the majority of her thick hair and twisting it – getting a good grip. Robin finally speeds up the slap of his hips against her perfect rear - still giving her long, full strokes, but with a bit more vigor now, bearing down on her and hoping she’s getting close. He gives her hair a hearty tug, tipping her head back with the action, then brings his hand down and slaps her arse a second time.

And - _oh christ!_ – she clenches on him so bloody hard that she nearly shoves him right out, which only encourages him to fuck her even more fiercely now, because he _knows_ she loves it, loves when he gets rough and does things like this to her. He pulls her hair again and keeps it taught, and this time she makes this sort of mewling noise in the back of her throat, her hips undulating with abandon as he buries himself deep and gives her these relentless thrusts that make her moan, make her twist her hands in the sheets and rasp, “_Yes… yes - just like that baby, oh god.”_

Robin shifts to give himself some room, then smacks her arse several times in a row, groaning as her inner muscles contract on him in response to each swat of his hand.

“Ask me,” he pants, “Be a good girl and ask me for your release. Beg me to fuck you to completion and fill you with my come – you know I want to, you know I’d never deny you, my Queen.”

Regina moans _yesss _but stubbornly shakes her head no, bucking her hips wantonly and practically gushing her arousal all over him.

Confounded willful tart. _God,_ he loves her.

Robin uses his hand in her hair and the strength of his thick thighs to shove her forward onto her stomach, then grabs her by the hips and flips her over so fast that she doesn’t even have time to fight him on it. She’s grinning as she bounces against the mattress, dark hair flying, her chest, neck, and cheeks flushed from their activities, her neck and gorgeous breasts marked from his earlier enthusiasm – by god, he’s a lucky man. Robin grabs her by the thighs and jerks her toward him, lines up without any preamble and slides back inside of her.

Her full lips part, her tongue darting out to wet them, her chest heaving, and he shifts on his knees to press one hand low on her belly, the other on her mound so he can play his thumb over her clit, can rub it back and forth across the engorged little bud. She’s _so _worked up, so pink and tight and wet as he thrusts slow and deep. She’s perfect, _stunning_ – Regina is every substitute for the expression of beautiful in every way that a person can be. He gets so hot for her - half-hard the second she walks in a room – and he’s been on the edge for ages now – _christ_ \- he wants to come so badly, but he wants to stay inside of her forever.

Robin smiles at her, catches her dark brown eyes and when she smiles back - all soft and flushed just because he’s pleasuring her - he feels a surge of pride because she is _his_ and he is _hers_, and neither of them will have it any other way.

Suddenly he’s not playing a game anymore.

He starts rubbing her clit with intent, pressing firmly as he thrusts faster and faster into her. This isn’t quite how they’re supposed to do this, he’s not supposed to get her off before she caves, and he sees the confusion cross her pretty face when she starts to shake beneath him and he doesn’t seem to listen to the usual cues to let up.

“C-close,” she warns him, the slender muscles in her neck straining as she tries to hold back.

He knows she is, she’s so tight around him and he can feel her trembling, but Robin just rubs her clit faster – he’s going to make her come, he’s done with these games and all he cares about now is her pleasure. It seems silly to deny her – he wants to give her as many orgasms as possible – wants to find the upper limit she can take and surpass it.

“I- I’m,” she pants, “Can’t –” Regina grins and wriggles her hips as she taps at his hands with hers, trying to get away from his rubbing fingers, but Robin ignores her and starts working his hips faster, hammering into her even harder and working his fingers furiously across the hard little bud that he knows is oh-so-sensitive as she kicks her legs a bit in a last ditch attempt to warn him off. But he doesn’t let up, not for a second, works her faster, faster, _faster _as she gasps and whines and moans beneath him.

Then she opens her mouth, and surprises the hell out of him.

_“Will you please-make-me-come???” _she pants, her inner muscles already starting to clench around him.

He groans as her back bows off the bed and tells her, “Of course, darling.”

Her body jerks as her release consumes her, and Robin has to stop working her clit in favor of grabbing her hips to keep her from slipping off of his cock. Her entire body shakes as she comes apart, but he holds her to him firmly, staying buried inside of her. It’s heavenly – the way she feels as she comes – he gets to feel each and every shudder that runs through her, every clench, the hot rush of wetness; he gets to watch the way her stomach quivers, her hands twist the sheets, her nipples perk, her neck arches, and _god_, he can’t hold back any longer now.

She’s just coming down when he loses his composure and starts fucking her hard again, surprising her when he grabs her wrists possessively and pins them down next to her shoulders.

Her thighs drop open and she rambles, “Oh, god, yeah baby, yesss,” and Robin takes that as permission to come undone.

“That’s right love, spread those legs for me,” he rasps, pumping into her with hard snaps of his hips. “Been waiting so long to get back inside of you, to make you mine again,” he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts.

“I know,” she rasps, dropping her head back, “I’m sorry.”

He ducks his head and sucks hard on her nipple – god he loves her tits – and Regina lets out a low, hoarse moan just before he tells her, “We’ll work through this, we’re together - now and always.”

“Yes,” she nods, desperation in her voice, her body shaking beneath him.

“No more first loves,” he fucks her harder, faster, “No more leaving, no more memory potions.”

“No more,” she agrees.

“It’s you and me.” He starts to drive into her harder – _harder –_ her beautiful breasts bouncing with every thrust. “I’m your outlaw and you’re my Queen.”

“Yes, _yes_ – _fuc-k_ – _Oh-my-god-don’t-stop._”

Robin sucks roughly on each of her nipples, tugging on the stiff, tight peaks, then marks her yet again on the underside of her breast. He lets go of her hands then, and settles his weight more fully on her, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her passionately and breathing her air into his lungs. Regina throws her arms round his neck, brings her knees up and over his hips, and he steadies his pace, sliding into her smoothly with an exaggerated roll of his hips that bumps his pelvis against her clit, and - _oh, Christ -_ that’s bloody perfect.

She pants breathlessly against his ear as he works her over – he can feel her tightening around him once more, and Robin leans his face in close, sucking kisses along her neck and the top of her shoulder as he praises her and tells her how beautiful she is. He tells her how much he loves her, and that he knows, right down to the bottom of his bright red hero’s heart, that their love is anything but broken, because _she_ is the only thing in all the realms that makes _his_ heart whole_._

Regina is lovely in her passion, clutching tightly to him and angling her body perfectly to take his entire length just right, trembling and repeating _I love you_ back to him in place of poetry, and those three words spilling from her lips are more than he ever could have dreamed of. It’s too much – he’s been going for what feels like forever and he’s so hard he’s _aching._ Robin gives in and starts sliding rapidly into her, euphoric, surrounded by the smell of her skin, the feeling of her nails dragging across his shoulders, her teeth nipping at the side of his neck as he hammers into her – _christ. _He’s only a few thrusts from completion when she comes again, and he groans, the feeling of her forceful spasms pulsing all around him is intense and he snaps his hips hard, giving her deep, rough thrusts as he starts to come with her, ducking his head to press his lips to hers as he shudders and fills her with the hot jets of his release.

They come down slowly – he’s spent but reluctant to stop thrusting, to leave the heat and warmth of her body that he has missed so much. Robin suspects that Regina feels the same, because she continues to rock her hips against him even as he softens inside of her, locking her legs around his hips to keep him in, and leaving her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she sucks kisses along his shoulder. He doesn’t want to change a thing, but he doesn’t want to crush her – she’s so tiny – so he rolls them so she’s splayed out on top of him, but that’s as much as he’s willing to do. He’s exhausted, both physically and mentally from the events of the past few hours. It seems that Regina is too though, because she cuddles her face against his chest, and he’s fairly certain she’s asleep before he even gets her fully situated on top of him. He smiles, grateful and proud that he can provide her comfort, that he is able to make her feel so relaxed with him after all the hell and horror she has been through. He brushes her dark hair out of her eyes, presses a kiss to the top of her head, then tugs a sheet over them and wraps his arms around her, content to keep her as close as possible as he drifts off.

The next thing he knows, he’s being roused by the soft call of her voice and the slow stroke of her hand along his ribs.

“Robin,” she calls, walking her fingers up his chest.

Robin circles his arms around her and squeezes tightly, burying his face in her hair and taking a moment to breath her in. _God,_ she smells good.

“Just a bit longer,” he mumbles, refusing to open his eyes.

He feels her chest shake against him as she apparently stifles a laugh.

“Wake up, Outlaw of mine,” she drawls, drawing lazy circles on his skin with her fingertips.

“Five more minutes.”

This time he hears her laugh, and he can’t stop his own smile from forming.

“You wouldn’t want to keep your Queen waiting, now would you?” she asks, her voice sultry and sweet, and when he feels her lips pressing along his jawline, he’s suddenly very interested in being awake.

“Of course not,” he opens his eyes and runs his hands up her naked back. “I’m totally awake and at your service,” he grins, reaching down to grab two handfuls of her arse.

Regina laughs.

“Well actually, I wanted to ask you something,” she leans back and draws her fine eyebrows together as she thinks. “Why did you come to see me today? Was it to talk, or was it for something else?”

Robin smiles and lets go of her rear. Oh, right.

“It _was_ to talk, at least in part,” he says honestly, his heart singing with the way she smiles at him. “But I did have another item on the agenda, too.”

“Oh?” she smirks raises a fine eyebrow suggestively.

“Believe it or not, it wasn’t this,” he smiles, reaches up and brushes a lock of hair off of her forehead. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d accompany me somewhere.”

Regina tips her head in curiosity.

“There’s something I’d like to show you, something Henry and I have been working on that I think might help to set your mind at ease, or at the very least, it might check off one of the boxes on your lengthy list of To Do’s.”

She’s a bit reserved about it, but she agrees to go with him, and they take her car out to the property so Robin can finally see what she thinks of what he and Henry have been up to.

He planned ahead for this – got together with Alan and laid out the general footprint of the house with a series of stakes and string, and had Henry and Roland make little signs depicting which room is supposed to be which in order to give the whole thing a bit of visual appeal.

They get out of the car and he leads her by the hand up to where the front door is supposed to go, then he moves to stand behind her so he can point out the various rooms, ideas, and overall design to her. She stands quietly on the not-yet-existent doorstep and lets him prattle on for a solid ten minutes, nodding along when he asks her questions like, “see over there…?” and “can you imagine if…?” and so forth, until he finally covers everything he wants to tell her.

Then he just stands there like a fool and awaits the Queen’s judgement.

“Robin…” she says quietly, staring at her imaginary potential house.

“Yeah?” he tries not to fidget and fails, stuffs his hands in his pockets and shifts to the side so he can see her face.

“You… bought this property? For me?”

“Uh… yeah.”

She nods slowly, almost a minute passes and she asks, “And you had Henry draw the plans for the house?”

“… Yes?”

“And that room, right there,” she points slightly to her left. “That’s Roland’s room?”

He swallows nervously. “It’s a uh, it’s a bedroom. Henry’s been calling it that, but um, you can call it whatever you’d like, darling, it’s your house.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully, and reiterates in a whisper that is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her, “That’s _Roland’s_ room.”

After a moment, Regina shifts her gaze, along with her pointer finger to the right and asks, “And that – that’s _our_ room?”

Robin’s heart stutters at her phrasing, then starts to pound in triple time.

“If that’s what you want,” he tells her carefully, feeling his cheeks flush pink. “I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything in return for this. This house is intended for you and Henry, since you haven’t got a place of your own anymore.”

She frowns and turns to face him.

“We’re a family, though. All _four_ of us, dear.” Regina looks him directly in the eyes as she says this, with a hint of uncertainty shining through. She tugs at the sleeve on her left arm, the movement catches his eye, and he suddenly feels like complete dolt for ever doubting his welcome here.

“Right.” He says with finality, looking at the house, then back to her. “That’s _our_ room, Yours and mine.”

For a moment she looks like she’s going to cry, and he panics, thinks he’s cocked this whole thing up terribly. Her eyes go red around the edges, her forehead creases and she clenches her jaw as she stares at him with this intense look that he feels right down to his soul. But then _oh_ – the smile that breaks from her is so brilliant that he swears she could light up the entire town of Storybrooke. Regina throws her arms around his neck to hug him and showers him with kisses and quiet words of praise - tells him that it’s all perfect, that she loves it, and most of all, that she loves _him_. She is so grateful, so full of love over it that at the end of the day, Robin is forced to concede that while he might not have magic, while he might not be the most distinguished or remarkable person in all the realms, he certainly feels like he is when Regina Mills makes up his better half.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

** _ New York - October 14th, 2016 _ **

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, sweetie?” Regina asks nervously.

“Oh my god, mom, it’s fine,” Henry half-complains, half-laughs. “That’s like, the thousandth time you’ve asked.”

“I know, I just, if you’re not comfortable-”

“Darling, they’ll be fine,” Robin reassures her. “We’ll only be gone a few hours.” he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek.

Regina sighs. She knows, rationally, that Henry is old enough to stay in their apartment and watch Roland for a few hours while she and Robin are out, and she knows that he really doesn’t mind. He’s sixteen and she trusts him, he’s promised her that he’ll read to Roland, just like he has the past few nights in Storybrooke, and that he’ll tuck him in right at bedtime. She knows that he’s capable of this and she’s _relatively_ confident that Roland will listen to him - she at least knows that if either boy doesn’t do as they’re supposed to, they’ll rat each other out to her in a heartbeat, which is a thought that makes her smirk.

“Okay,” she concedes. “You have my cell number in your phone, and Robin’s right? And the doctor, in case you can’t get us? And your phone is _charged_?”

Henry rolls his eyes and nods. “Yep.”

Regina holds out her hand. “Let me see.”

Henry starts to make a face, and she feels her anxiety flare.

“Regina,” Robin quietly scolds, “He’s got it.”

“But I-” she starts.

“Henry and I already went through it this morning,” he tells her, rubbing her shoulder. “Didn’t we, mate?”

Henry shrugs. “Robin gave me all the phone numbers, and I’m supposed to leave my phone plugged in, with the ringer volume all the way up,“ Henry states, obviously repeating the instructions Robin has given him. “If I need anything, don’t be afraid to text you guys, and call if it needs,” he mimics Robin’s voice “_immediate attention_.”

Robin cracks up, while Henry continues. “And if I’m not sure if it’s an emergency, treat it like it is. Oh, and check all the locks at least twice.”

Regina smiles and just stares at Robin for a moment - she doesn’t know how she ever lived without him. He brings such joy, such color to her life - she is certain she has never smiled so much than when she is with him. She pulls her son to her by the back of the neck - god, he’s so tall now, a good inch taller than her - and she kisses his forehead. “Okay,” she tells him. “Be good.”

“Will do,” he gives her one of those Henry-half-smiles, but then his green eyes grow serious.

Regina puts her hands on his shoulders, rubbing comfortingly, and watches his expression as he struggles to say whatever it is he wants to tell her.

“I’ll just check on Roland…” Robin says quietly, then wanders off down the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Regina asks, cupping Henry’s cheek. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No!” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, I want you to go - I know you need to go, I just...” he furrows his brow, his cheeks growing pink.

“You can tell me anything,” she squeezes his shoulder.

“Please be careful, okay?” he says quietly, dropping his eyes.

It isn’t at all what she expected him to say.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she admits, and clarifies. “I’m only going to be gone a little while, sweetie, and Robin will be with me the whole time.”

“I know,” Henry nods, still not looking at her. “It’s just that you don’t have your magic here,” he says, as if she hadn’t thought of that. “There are bad people out there and, you know, you’re just so… small.”

Regina smiles, warm affection for her son racing through her over his sweet concern for her safety.

“It’s true that I don’t have my magic,” she admits, “But Robin and I are still exceptionally fast, and strong compared to other people in this land - we are not graced with those attributes through magic, it’s a simple difference in genetics.” She leans in and gives Henry a conspiratorial little grin, “So there’s really no need to worry - I have a leg up on all of those _peasants_,” she winks.

Henry laughs. “Mom, you gotta work on your winking.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Now _that_ you have down,” he laughs again, and she joins him.

“Alright, be good tonight,” Regina cups his face and kisses his forehead again. “And don’t forget to pick out a movie for us to see this weekend.”

“Alll dooone!” Roland comes racing into the living room, his bright yellow Pikachu footie pajamas flashing like lightning as he leaps into Regina’s arms.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, swinging him up onto her hip, “Did you brush them all, top _and_ bottom teeth?”

“Uh huh,” Roland nods vigorously, twisting one hand in a lock of her raven-colored hair. “You look pretty,” he says touching his fingers to her painted lips - a soft red that just gives a hint of color, not dramatic like what she used to wear, but a step up from nothing, at least.

She kisses his fingers, smiles and says, “Thank you, baby.” He giggles when she leans in and rubs her nose against his and asks, “Do you remember what we talked about earlier? Can you tell me your promise?”

Roland’s big brown eyes are focused on his hand twirling around in her hair for another moment, but when she prompts him with a softly spoken, “Roland,” he brings his eyes up to hers and says solemnly. “Listen. To. Henry.” punctuating each word with a single nod of his head, curls bouncing comically.

She grins at him and praises, “That’s right!” then squeezes him tightly to her.

“Remember what we get if you’re good, Roli?” Henry asks from where he’s lounging on the couch, flipping through his Netflix options.

Roland bites his lip and furrows his tiny forehead as he thinks hard, then brings his eyes to Regina’s. “I don’t remember,” he whispers, panic written across his features. “Does that mean I don’t get it?”

She smiles sweetly and buries her fingers in his hair as she kisses his little face. “How about I tell you what it is,” she whispers back. “And that way you can still get it?”

Roland looks around as if they are in cahoots and nods excitedly.

“If you’re a very good boy tonight,” she whispers, “And you listen to Henry, then this weekend we’ll take you to the museum.“

“The museum!” Roland yells, kicking his legs excitedly. “I LOVE THE MUSEUM!”

She grins, “I know, baby, I know,” Regina laughs and sets him down - he’s getting heavy - growing up too fast. “But you have to be good _tonight_, okay? Both of you.”

Roland is already on the couch with Henry, and both boys call back to her, “Okay,” without looking up from the cartoon Henry selected.

“Alright, darling, shall we go?” Robin asks, slipping on his green knit jacket and holding up her black leather one.

She nods and lets him help her into her coat, and with one last promise from the boys they have everything under control, Robin and Regina exit the apartment and start on their way.

When they arrive, it takes her a long time to go in. Robin waits patiently with her outside the building, not rushing her, not saying a word, seeming to understand that even though he is here, she needs to do this on her own. She stands quietly, just staring at the glass door, engaging in a violent duel with her feelings of anxiety, fear, and failure, until she finally fights her demons down and remembers just who she is. She thinks of all the things she has done and all of the things that have happened to her, and she wonders how balanced or unbalanced the scale has tipped at this point. Regina doesn’t truly believe that she was born with a black heart - she knows when and how this started, and she wonders if for people like her, who were made this way through a variety of terrible events that led to the inevitable, happiness isn’t a given.

Maybe in her case, just like her evil was, her happiness must be _made_.

It’s that thought that has Regina moving, that gives her the courage she needs to take Robin’s hand and lead him into Dr. Li’s office. It’s her first appointment of many, she’s certain, and it’s not going to be easy. But if this is what it takes to make her feel at home in the world, to help her stop punishing herself and standing in the way of her own happiness, then she’ll find one way or another to get through it.

She never has been one to take the easy road. Perhaps she’ll just have to consider this a new adventure.

~Fin


	25. Stalker - Inspired by OQ Artwork and Thanks

This chapter is dedicated to the INCREDIBLE artists who made these amazing manips, collages, mood boards, posters, and playlists to compliment this fic during 'Inspired by OQ 2019'. I never expected to receive any of these and I cannot express how much it all means to me. This fic wouldn't exist without the love and support from the fandom - and the links below are evidence of exactly that. 

All rights belong to the artists - this is purely intended for me to express my sincere, heartfelt gratitude. Please do not copy or use their work without their permission.

["Ruh-gee-nuh" by @Ankareeda](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782367)

[Inspired by Stalker by @margaritaxoq](https://twitter.com/margaritaxoq/status/1176205374384484353?s=21)

["Specifically Chap 12 which shattered my soul into a million OQ shaped pieces" by @widenersa](https://twitter.com/widenersa/status/1176148181006061568?s=21)

[Shhh by @jcmylskatia](https://twitter.com/jcmylskatia/status/1176044533328601088?s=21)

[The alley by @willow1411](https://twitter.com/willow1411/status/1176788241024000000?s=20)

[Movie Poster by @EQChemistry](https://twitter.com/EQChemistry/status/1174370499301957635?s=20)

[Cannot breathe without you by @wickedOQ](https://twitter.com/wickedoq/status/1176541420993298434?s=21)

[Stalker playlist on spotify by @stacy_e_k](https://twitter.com/stacy_e_k/status/1177282385890562048?s=21)

[What she deserves by @babylawyerOQ](https://twitter.com/BabyLawyerOQ/status/1176472419780968448?s=20)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ruh-gee-nuh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782367) by [ankareeda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankareeda/pseuds/ankareeda)


End file.
